Welcome to Kirkwall
by TattKatt
Summary: Seven years since she ended the Blight, the Dalish Hero of Ferelden is having the dreams again.  But why have they brought her to Kirkwall? Could it have something to do with Merrill and the mirror? Or does the truth go far deeper than that?
1. Chapter 1

**Authors Note:** _This story is a sequel of sorts to And for What? I started that story with this one in mind, intending to portray the full backstory of the Dalish Hero of Ferelden. I realized, however that I could reveal all that within this story. I may post occasional updates on that story as there are a few scenes that need to be seen first hand rather than as a memory. But for now I am concentrating on this one. My apologies to the And for What? fans._

08/04/12**Update: **_Seeing as how it has been a year since I originally started this story, I thought it would be best to revamp a few things to be more in keeping with the newer chapters. Small changes that reflect the character a little better I think. Happy Reading, and Reviews Welcome._

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><p>Welcome to Kirkwall<p>

Chapter 1: Following Trouble and the Trouble that Follows

Lyra Mahariel walked the bustling throng that was Kirkwall's Lowtown. Her wild mass of almost blood red hair hung in waves down her back. She had tried earlier to tie it up off her neck in an attempt at keeping cool in the Kirkwall heat but it seemed to have a mind of its own and had untied itself almost immediately, so she gave up. It was times like this that she missed Ferelden. It was cooler there, and her thick hair was an asset. Now she was seriously considering shaving her head. _Wouldn't that be a sight, _she thought, grinning to herself. Being an elf, she was shorter than most of the humans on the street, but her icy grey eyes, the determined set of her jaw and confident attitude more than made up for her smallish stature. The ornate twin daggers strapped to her back probably didn't hurt, either. People tended to move out of the way of the armed and well armored, no matter their height.

It was strange to Lyra to walk along a street and have no one recognize or even notice her. Since slaying the Archdemon and in so doing ending the Blight almost before it began, it seemed she had rarely had a moments peace in Ferelden, and never would have been able to walk so calmly through a crowded street such as this without someone recognizing her. _And once one of them did_, she sighed to herself, _they all did_. She had to admit, she was enjoying her anonymity in Kirkwall. She didn't have to watch what she said or did here because no one cared. In Ferelden there seemed to be always someone watching to see what she would do next. She never really cared about what people thought of her but as Alistair had pointed out, she was a Grey Warden, and Hero of Ferelden. She needed to be the kind of person people could look up to and want to emulate, because they would, either way.

Heady stuff to put on an elf, Lyra had thought. But knew it was true. When she had started that journey such a long time ago, being a Grey Warden meant nothing to her, less than nothing. It was a curse. As far as she was concerned the Wardens had stolen her away from her life and her people. And when they had been all but destroyed at Ostegar she had seen it as her chance to escape, go back to her people, find what she'd lost, and forget about the Blight. But Alistair had pleaded with her. He had just lost everyone he cared about, he told her, don't you abandon me too. So she had stayed. She swore an oath that she would stay with him until it was over, but she demanded a promise of assistance from him in return. He had never had to fulfil his end of the bargain. She found who she was looking for without his help, or more accurately, Tamlen had found her...

She shook her head, as though the action could dislodge such dismal thoughts from her mind. It had been so long ago it hardly seemed real anymore. And yet there were days like this, when it seemed to have all happened just yesterday and she found she could think of little else. She found herself wondering what Tamlen would have thought of the city, and the crowds. They had grown up together in one of the wandering Dalish clans, and life seemed all set out before them, living the simple life of the Dalish and eventually growing old together. Such was not to be, however. In one day, everything she knew, or thought she knew, had changed. Tamlen had been... taken. She had been forced to become a Grey Warden to save her life, supposedly, and, as the Fates would have it, to save the lives of everyone else as well.

Hero of Ferelden. Even after all these years the title still sounded strange to her. She was an elf, she had no business with humans, yet she had fought for them, nearly died for them, and for what? What did she have to show for it all but the memories of all she'd lost? There were still times she longed for the simple life of her people. She could always go back, she told herself. But she knew it was a lie. She could never go back, not after everything that happened. She was a different person now, after all, hadn't it been her own Keeper that had cast her out? For her own good, perhaps, but still. Would they even accept her now? She still wondered at one of their last conversations, when Tamlen had jokingly said she enjoyed being away from the camp so much, she would probably end up living in one of the cities with all the _shems_. He had meant it as a joke, and she had scoffed at this, both of them laughing at the very idea of Lyra Mahariel living alongside humans. Yet here she was, in one of the largest cities in Thedas, far from her homeland, her people, and everything she knew.

She let herself be carried along by the press of people in the street, unminding of the jostling, while her mind wandered the halls of memory, until she felt a hand on her arm, dragging her into an alley. She stared at the grime encrusted fingers for a moment before her eyes travelled to the mans face. He was grinning drunkenly, a fact further evidenced by the potent stench of cheap ale.

"Hey there, girly," the human said through distinctly yellowing teeth. "Wanna have some fun with good ol' Marlon?"

"Not particularly," Lyra grimaced, making no effort to hide her disgust.

"I think can make you change your mind," he sneered, pulling a small dagger from his waist band.

_Thats it?_ She thought. _He's trying to threaten me with a butter knife?_ She wanted to laugh in his face, pull her own daggers and gut the man, let him bleed out on the cobbles as he watched his own entrails quivering beside him. But no, she was new to this city, and even if no one recognized her, she was still a Grey Warden, and had a reputation to uphold. _Damn Alistair and his damn morality_, she cursed to herself. _That bastards rubbing off on me... Royal bastard, _she mentally corrected.

The man referring to himself as Marlon, was pulling her towards him, leering and waggling the knife at her. "I sincerely doubt you could," Lyra said finally.

"Wha'?" he said, evidently puzzled. Not an uncommon expression, she was sure.

"I sincerely doubt you could," she repeated, "Think, that is." With that she hit him with a roundhouse blow that had all the power in her compact 5'4" frame as well as a prejudice against humans that stemmed from hundreds of years of Dalish history. She heard a sickening crack as fist met bone and wondered briefly if she had broken the mans jaw or her own hand. Her second blow caught him the the ribs and she landed two more to the same spot before he fell, groaning and spitting blood.

She heard a sharp whistle and almost instantly she was grabbed and inexpertly disarmed by two well armoured guards who dragged her away from the man as she kicked and fought them halfheartedly.

Once in Hightown, and safely away from the prying eyes and ears of the peasantry she calmed down and walked with the two guardsmen peacefully enough as they probed her for information. Who was she? They asked. What was she doing in Lowtown? Why did she attack that man? She responded to none of these. She was surprised that she was even getting this kind of treatment. Most guards she knew upon encountering an elf in the process of beating a human half to death would have simply thrown her down the nearest hole and left her to rot. She supposed the fact that she was well fed and not dressed in rags had given them enough pause to let one of their superiors deal with her. Lyra had heard that the Captain of the Guard was Ferelden, and might therefore be able to see past, 'elf attacks human' and perhaps be interested in the truth of the matter.

They arrived at the guard post and locked her in a windowless stone walled room barely large enough for the table and chair that occupied it, she waited silently as armed guards paced the worn floor boards around her asking their tiresome questions which she largely ignored. She sat in the cell, for lack of a better word, after the most recent interrogator had given up, leaving her alone in the room aside from the single guard at the door, and idly rubbed the hand that had connected with 'good ol' Marlon's jaw. It had started to throb and if someone didn't suggest getting the Captain soon, she was going to have to do it herself just to get a lousy binding for it.

A short time later she heard voices from the corridor, one in particular sounding very loud, very impatient, and very in charge. _Finally_, she thought, and the door opened.

To say that the woman before her had not been what she expected, would be an understatement. She had not expected a woman, to start with. A Ferelden Guard Captain was unlikely enough, but a woman as well? It was unheard of. The Captain was tall with reddish orange hair, and fierce green eyes. Even without the seemingly permanent expression of disapproval, her strong angular features bore the mark of someone who brooked no argument, and accepted no excuses.

When she had barged into the room, she had looked about to launch into a verbal tirade, but at the sight of Lyra, looking calmly up from her chair, she stopped in her tracks, utterly speechless. Then she slowly turned to the guard at the door and said simply, "Leave us."

"But Captain, it took three of us just to get her off Marlon and back to the cell," the guard protested, obviously shocked at the unexpected order.

"She let you bring her here," the Captain said, now studying Lyra intently.

"Let us?!" he exclaimed. "She-"

"I gave you an order, constable." And then, seeing the way Lyra was holding her hand, said, "And bring bandages for the Makers sake."

"I- Yes, Captain." And without another word, the two women were alone in the room. Lyra waited for the Captain to speak first. She needed to know what kind of person she was dealing with before she revealed anything. That the Captain recognized her was obvious. She guessed that a lot of Fereldens would. But whether that recognition would be an asset or a liability remained to be seen. The two women studied one another, like rival dogs circling each other stiff-legged, each waiting for the other to make the first move.

The Constable returned with an injury kit and left it on the table without a word. The Captain nodded to him as he left but otherwise said nothing. She pushed the kit across the table to Lyra who gave a faint smile of appreciation and began wrapping the injured hand. Finally, the Captain spoke. "I am Aveline Vallen, Captain of the Guard for the city of Kirkwall. I would ask your name but that doesn't really seem necessary, Hero of Ferelden..." Lyra's eyes narrowed but she remained silent. Aveline looked slightly annoyed and getting no response from the title, but continued, in an even more businesslike manner. "You attacked a man in Lowtown in an alley without provocation, whereupon my guards brought you here where you have proven to be very uncooperative. Hero or no, I do demand justice in my city." Still silence. With a sigh of exasperation Aveline said, "Are you going to answer my questions, or am I wasting my time here?"

"I will answer any question you put to me," Lyra said simply and shrugged. "As of yet you have asked me none."

Another frustrated sigh. "Very well, we'll try the direct approach. Why did you attack that man?"

"He desired female companionship, the kind I was not willing to give. He tried to force the issue and I communicated to him that his attentions were unwelcome." She said it like it had been the simplest thing in the world, a misunderstanding between two reasonable individuals.

"Three cracked ribs and a broken jaw?" Aveline asked, eyebrow raised.

"Come now, Captain," Lyra smiled conspiratorially. "You and I both know that pain is the only language some people understand."

The corner of Aveline's mouth lifted imperceptibly. "Indeed. And the three guards you assaulted as they were bringing you in?"

"Oh, that was a favour to you, Captain," Lyra said, still smiling. Aveline's eyebrows arched in disbelief. "In my few short years dealing with your kind I have learned the importance of appearance and perception. Tell me, how would it look if a wild Dalish elf attacked one of Kirkwalls citizens and the guards thereof simply escorted her away as if she were some foreign dignitary?" Aveline frowned. "Whereas this way, all the crowd really saw was some crazed elf attacking some man in and alley and promptly being hauled off by the guard, kicking and screaming." She smiled at the cleverness of it all, but the Captain was still scowling. "Honestly, I was surprised enough they didn't throw me in the nearest ditch, but if they had tried," she paused meaningfully. "I'm sure you know I didn't have to let them take me at all... I was trying to be... polite."

Avaline Vallen sighed again and shook her head in resignation. "The gentleman in question will be investigated thoroughly once he recovers sufficiently from his... injuries."

"So I am free to go?" Lyra said, rising from her chair.

"Not just yet." She raised a hand and motioned Lyra back into her chair. The elf in front of her had not been what she had expected. She hadn't been expecting the Hero of Ferelden to be sitting in her interrogation room for starters. And here she was, calm as you please, expecting... Expecting what? "It's a matter of curiosity, really," she said at last, "but I must ask, what are you doing in Kirkwall?"

If Lyra was surprised by the question, she did not show it. "Am I not welcome?"

"Not exactly," Aveline said, choosing her words carefully. "From all we have heard about you, it seems trouble tends to follow you like a Mabari war-hound to its master." Lyra grinned at the distinctly Ferelden analogy. "And at present," Aveline continued, "Kirwall has enough troubles of its own. I simply wish to know what I should be expecting."

Lyra had heard of Kirkwalls troubles, and though not her primary goal, she was concerned. Technically she could not get involved, but these problems could not simply be ignored. It seemed a war was brewing, between the Templars and the mages. More specifically, between Knight Commander Meredith and the First Enchanter. If the two sides did start openly fighting one another, it would become very difficult _not_ to get involved, for anyone.

"Do not worry yourself," Lyra said, "I am here recruiting for the Grey Wardens. No serious trouble could arise from that, I'm sure." It wasn't a lie, not really. "And, as a point of interest, in my experience its the Mabari that does the leading, and its master that does the following." She smiled jovially and received a begrudging grin in response. "Speaking of which, I wonder where he's got to?"

"Where who go to?"

"My Mabari," Lyra said simply.

Aveline froze. "Are you saying there is a war-hound loose in my city?"

"Oh, don't look so concerned," Lyra said dismissively. "He won't kill anyone unless they really deserve it, or if they try to scratch him behind the ears... In that case he may slobber them to death." This got another appreciative grin. "He wandered off shortly after we arrived, I think he picked up the scent of spiced meats or something. He always finds me again though."

As if on cue there was a loud bark from outside the room, then the sound of something, or someone, crashing violently to the floor. There was a brief cry of "Who let that damn dog in?!", before the door burst open and a blur of muscles, teeth, fur, and slobber, cannoned into the room.

"There's Trouble," Lyra said smiling broadly as the dog wagged his hindquarters and barked happily.

"He seems to have developed a taste for the food here. Or whats left of it anyway," she said, picking a slimy banana peel from the dogs back. He nudged Lyra's leg and looked from Aveline to Lyra expectantly. "Ahh, yes introductions. This is Aveline, she's a friend." She said the word 'friend' very deliberately. She didn't really need to, the dog understood more of what was going on around him than most people did, but it tended to set peoples minds at ease if they thought the dog knew they were a friend and therefore off limits in the biting department.

The big dog made his way towards Aveline, sat down on his haunches and raised a paw, which Aveline took and gave it an exaggerated shake. "Please to meet you," she said. The dog barked.

"That is very un-mabari like behaviour, you know," Lyra reprimanded in mock disapproval. The mabari looked at her and if it was possible for a dog to shrug, this one managed it, then went on grinning as only a mabari can.

Lyra smiled at the dog and shook her head, then said to Aveline. "I shall be on my way then, unless there is anything else?"

"No, that should suffice. I would recommend going to the Amell Estate and seeing Garrett Hawke, though."

Lyra stopped in mid stride for the door. "And why is that?"

"Well other than being a fellow Ferelden, he is the Champion of Kirkwall. I would imagine you two will have much in common." Lyra rankled a bit at being called a Ferelden. She was a Dalush, and the Dalish gave little regard for human land names and their borders. But she supposed, as she was now being called the Hero of Ferelden, it was a distinction that few were likely to make. "Also," Aveline continued, "he owns the estate and would likely be willing to provide you with accommodation if you desired."

At this Lyra balked, "I will not reside under a humans roof."

"Ahh, yes. I'd forgotten. You have a reputation for your hatred of humans."

Lyra waved a hand dismissively. "That is not entirely accurate. I only hold hatred for the humans who are deserving of it. And rest assured that those humans are deserving of yours as well." Aveline gave her a sidelong glance. "I was protesting the arrangement more in thought of his reputation than mine. I will not be seen as a human lords mistress, nor will I facilitate the belief that he has one. I have made other arrangements, in any case."

"Very well," she paused suddenly curious. "Won't the King be missing you while you are here in Kirkwall?"

"I sincerely doubt it. Alistair has matters of state to contend with as well as a new wife. I imagine he will be quite too busy to worry about me. In truth, I imagine he is quite glad to be ride of me for a time." Lyra gave her a sly smile, "As you say, death follows me." She turned and strode confidently out the door, her dog following obediently behind her.

Aveline leaned on the rough hewn desk and stared after her thinking intently on their conversation. "I said 'trouble'..." she mused quietly to herself. "What is she planning?"


	2. Chapter 2

Updated 08/04/12

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><p>Welcome to Kirkwall<p>

Chapter 2: The Reluctant Champion and the Humble Hero

Lyra and her mabari walked confidently through the anteroom of the guardpost and out the door, the dog keeping his eyes straight ahead and carefully ignoring the comments of "Damn Ferelden dog" that were being directed at him, or possibly at her. One could never tell these days. Once outside, Lyra breathed a sigh and smiled down at the dog. "Well, that was fun. What shall we do now?" She looked up at the sky, painted in evening shades of pinks oranges and purples. "we've still got an hour or two before dark..."

Trouble barked and tugged at her good hand, then danced away simply screaming for her to follow.

"We are NOT going to seek out this Hawke person, if that's what you're thinking." The dog barked again and came back to her side, tugging on her hand again. "Very well," she sighed, "You know this matchmaking thing you've developed isn't very becoming of a war-dog." Trouble gave a frustrated grunt and tugged at her hand again. "All right, all right, I'm coming."

The dog led her through the paved streets of Hightown as if on a mission. Always a few paces ahead, and stopping now and then to make sure she was still following. The streets weren't as crowded in Hightown, and with night approaching they had emptied almost completely. Gargoyles loomed down over Lyra from every rooftop and parapet, while statues littered the vast squares and courtyards. As they made their way up broadly paved steps and through magnificently carved archways, Lyra thought, "_This is where Kirkwall's money lives.._."

She had never seen so much stonework in all her life. Even in Denerim, the capital city of Ferelden, most of the buildings were still wood and some masonry but nothing like the giant stone blocks that seemed to make up almost all of the Hightown architecture. It almost reminded her of the ancient ruins she and Tamlen had found in the forest so many years ago. Only the lower floors had been saved from complete destruction and even they were well on their way to being reclaimed by the forest, but in her minds eye she could see how the vast structure might have looked. _It might have looked a lot like that,_ she thought to herself as they past the innumerable stone steps that led up to the former Offices of the Viscount... or the Offices of the former Viscount. Either way, the man was dead and as far as she knew no one, save the determined efforts of Knight Commander Meredith, had stepped in to assert any sort of leadership.

She stopped in front of the impressive structure, gazing absently at the massive towers but not really seeing them. Instead she saw, or imagined she saw, ancient vines twisting through the heavy stone, massive trees reaching towards the heavens, and Tamlen beside her, urging her on toward adventure and glory. Or had she been urging him? She couldn't remember. Perhaps they lead each other into the caves. They both went in, but only she came out, and some part of her would never be able to forgive herself for that betrayal.

She let the dog pull her away from the palace and the memories, and eventually he stopped in front of an ornately carved set of double doors and whined at her. She looked up and saw the Amell Crest above the door. She sighed heavily. "This sort of thing really has to stop, you know. You're a war-dog, you really should start behaving like one. Not out trying to find me a suitor." She could hear a faint bark from somewhere inside the vast mansion. "Or perhaps it isn't me you're thinking of..." The dog grinned expansively and gave a short bark. "Very well, I will knock, but I promise nothing." He gave a grunt and waited, looking at the door expectantly.

She took hold of the great iron knocker and was about to let it fall against the striking plate when the door was suddenly opened by a rugged looking man with a shock of black hair, about a weeks worth of stubble on his chin, and striking blue eyes. He gave Lyra a cursory glance before his eyes fixated on the dog. An expansive grin spread across his face and he knelt down in front of the mabari and began scratching his head and neck. Which of course turned the dog into a wagging, grunting mass of tongue and slobber. The man smiled openly at the dog muttering "good dog" under his breath while the dog was working his way to an absolute frenzy of grunts and yips of excitement.

"Excuse me, if i could interrupt?" Lyra said. As one, dog and man went still and looked up at her with matched expressions of guilty pleasure, like they had been caught doing something they know they shouldn't and were wondering who was going to get the lecture first. "Look here, Trouble. You're here for the dog, remember? You brought _me_ here for the human."

The dog barked his agreement then looked up at the human, and waited expectantly. The man had stood up after realizing she was talking to the dog and not to him and said, "Go on then." Lyra recognized the distinctly Ferelden accent immediately. "Moira's in the study."

Trouble barked happily and barrelled his way into the house as if he owned it.

"A good Mabari is better than any door knocker, if slightly more demanding," the man said, eyeing her with a slight grin on his face. He was taller than her, which wasn't saying much since almost every human was taller than Lyra, but he was probably taller than most humans as well. His ruggedly solid build indicated that he was probably much more comfortable in a good suit of plate armour than in the finery he was wearing. It was certainly the latest fashion for the upper class but Lyra thought it made him look out of place, like a child in his fathers boots or a scribe wearing the kings armour. The fine silks of the brightly coloured clothing simply didn't suit him. She wondered idly what he would look like with it off, and mentally slapped herself. That sounded bad even in her own head. He had said something... what was it? Oh, yes..

"They are rather persistent," she agreed.

"I notice you call him Trouble?"

Lyra shrugged. "He seems to appreciate the irony."

The man laughed openly at this and nodded. Then he stood, eyeing her again with his hands on his narrow hips. "So... Lyra Mahariel at my doorstep."

She was taken aback at the instant recognition, but then hadn't she gotten the same reaction from Aveline? "I'm impressed," she said, "You even got the pronunciation correct. Though I must admit, I had hoped to remain in Kirkwall unnoticed. It seems I am recognized everywhere."

"I wouldn't worry about that too much. Almost every Ferelden knows your name, but I doubt if any would recognize you by sight."

"You did."

"Only because I have seen you before, dear lady," he bowed slightly as he said it, and she wondered if he was mocking her. No human gave an elf that kind of respect. He straightened up, an expression of open sincerity on his face, and continued. "My brother and I were at Ostegar. I saw you there, with the other Grey Warden. When the King was killed, we ran, like everyone else. Then, shortly after, you passed through my village, Lothering..." he let the sentence hang for a minute, both human and elf reliving memories the subject had brought to the surface. Then as if a switch had been flicked somewhere inside him, he brightened again. "Where are my manners? I am Garrett Hawke. They call me the Champion of Kirkwall, though I'm not sure Im deserving of the title. I certainly didn't ask for it." He gave her a quizzical glance. "As I am sure you did not ask for yours."

"Indeed, not," she agreed ruefully.

"Then lets make a pact, here and now. I will not call you Hero, as long as you do not call me Champion." He put his hand forward.

She looked at it cautiously. An odd human ritual suddenly springing to mind. "I don't have to spit on my hand first do I?"

He looked stunned for a moment then burst out in great guffaws of laughter. "Oh, I like you," he said, still laughing. "No we don't have to spit on them. Not unless you'd like to." She gave an exaggerated grimace of disgust and shook her head, then grinned and shook his hand firmly. "Good, we have a deal. Now, please come in, no sense standing in the darkening street when a warm fire beckons from the study."

He turned and led her through the foyer which was larger than most houses she had been in, and into a great hall with stairs leading to a second floor balcony which overlooked the room below. A giant glass chandelier hung from the ceiling illuminating expensively framed portraits of the rather stern but not overly cruel faces of people, she assumed, had been lords and ladies of the manor in times passed.

"Through here," the not-Champion said and motioned to a side door. She realized she had been gawking and turned quickly to follow him into a room that might have been just as large as the last if it weren't for the shelves upon shelves of books that lined every wall and cluttered every flat surface. He motioned to one of the overstuffed chairs seated in front of a massive fireplace, in front of which the two dogs had already entangled themselves and were quietly snuffling to each other.

"Can I get you something to drink?" Hawke asked, moving over to a side tray that held various bottles and decanters with glasses for each. He began to pour himself a glass of what she could only assume to be brandy and waved a hand.

"Just water please," she said, "I'm afraid I haven't developed a taste for human spirits."

"I have some elven wine here if you'd prefer."

Lyra was taken aback. How had this human come to possess elven wine? How did he even know what it was? The Dalish were secretive and not likely to give wine to outsiders. But, she supposed, not every secret could be kept, and let the matter drop. "I believe I will stick with water if its all the same to you," she said. "I've had a long and tiresome journey, and that alone has clouded my judgement quite enough." He raised an eyebrow at her but shrugged and poured her a glass out of the pitcher on the stand. He brought it over to her, then taking his glass threw himself into the other chair and hooked a leg over one arm, never spilling a drop of the amber liquid.

He looked so at ease with himself and his surroundings that she wondered about his life in Ferelden. There were certainly no mansions or estates like this in Lothering. There it was all wooden huts, the only stone building being the chantry. And yet here he was, lounging in an expansive library with a glass of brandy as if he had been brought up to it. Or perhaps not, she thought. She doubted very much that any lordling would know how to slouch so easily in a chair that was obviously constructed for the purpose of promoting correct posture. No, he was definitely not 'to the manor born' as they say. He simply made himself at home wherever he was. She envied him. She usually felt out of place, no matter the location.

He seemed to be watching her over the rim of his glass and she realized that she, too, had been staring at him. She suddenly found she had nothing to say and, feeling a bit awkward, let her eyes fall to her own glass. He may be able to make himself at home in any situation but she was having a difficult time with the opulence around her. Every stick of furniture seemed to shout "YOU DON'T BELONG HERE" These were feelings she had been contending with for years but here, in this mansion, she felt it even more strongly.

She was just about to make her excuses and leave when he said, "So why are you here, anyway?" Her previous thoughts were brought to a head and the nervous tension almost showed in her expression, but she managed to keep her face carefully blank. "In Kirkwall, I mean," he continued casually as if sensing her turmoil.

She forced herself to relax. After a few steadying moments she said, "You know? Aveline asked me the exact same question. I'm beginning to think I'm not wanted." She put on a slight pout and he grinned.

"Oh, I have no doubt that you are indeed wanted. From what I hear you have men chasing you from far and wide. Most of them are trying to kill you, of course..." He put up his hands to shield himself from what he was sure would be a well thrown water glass.

"Oh you are the funny one, aren't you?" she said restraining herself more than she would like to admit. "You and Alistair should team up. You could travel the countryside with your little comedy act." She resisted the urge to make a face at him. It turned out to be harder than not throwing the water glass.

He laughed that easy laugh of his again and relaxed further into the chair. "So you've met our dear Aveline have you? And how did that come about, if I may ask?"

"The usual way I would assume," she shrugged, sipping at the glass of cool water.

"Let me guess, you beat a man nearly to death for giving you a funny look, and were promptly arrested?" He raised an eyebrow at her.

Lyra smiled demurely at him and batted her eyelashes a few times, looking the picture of innocence. Garrett threw back his head and laughed. She found that she liked the sound of his laughter more and more, it was brimming with genuine mirth and a zest for life. A man like that found amusement in everything and when he smiled, you couldn't help but smile yourself.

"To be fair, it was considerably more than just a look. And he was carrying a knife that he presumably thought was a weapon, though I can't imagine why. I've seen cheese knives that would do more damage."

Hawke chuckled softly. "You know, in all the stories we've heard of you, no one ever mentioned your sense of humour."

"Oh, that's a recent development. If you'd met me five or six years ago, you would have trouble deciding who to cheer for, me or the dragon." She leaned forward as imparting some great secret. "I used to be a bit of a bitch."

"Oh, that we did hear," he said smiling and raised his glass to her. He was watching her carefully, finding it hard to reconcile everything he had heard about the Hero of Ferelden, with the quick-whitted and inescapably beautiful woman sitting before him. She was something of a mystery, and he had always enjoyed mysteries.

She shrugged. "In all honesty, I think Alistair has been rubbing off on me. All that joking around used to really grate on my nerves, but look where its got him..."

He nodded sagely. "And how is the King of Ferelden? We'd heard he got married. Most of the Fereldens here were sure it was to you, actually." There was a curiosity to his tone. Like he didn't really think the rumours were true but wasn't entirely sure.

She stared at him a moment to see if he was joking then burst out laughing. She looked at his curious expression and tried to suppress the laughter. "Trust me, if you knew more of Alistair and I, you would be laughing too." She managed to calm herself. "But really could you imagine a Dalish Queen of Ferelden?"

Hawke shrugged. "It would better represent the races of Ferelden."

"Oh, well. If we are talking about representation, we should really get a dog into office." Which received another appreciative chuckle. "No, I tried my hand at governance at Vigil's Keep and Amaranthine and found that I am simply not very good at it."

"Oh? How so?"

"Well, people kept asking me what should we do about this and that and the only answer I could come up with was 'How the hell should I know?' You need someone to kill darkspawn? I'm you're girl. You want to know how much taxes should be raised to pay for maintaining the roads? Don't ask a Dalish."

"You can hardly consider yourself a Dalish now, can you? I mean, I always thought Dalish was more a way of life than a race of people. How long has it been since you saw your Clan, anyway?"

The question startled her. Had she not been thinking the exact same thing only a few hours earlier? In truth those thoughts stayed with her constantly. She didn't know what she was now. She was a Grey Warden, sure, but she had been born Dalish, though she could hardly claim that heritage, having left her clan and he life behind so many years ago. She was a Grey Warden. When you are a Warden you cease to be elf, dwarf of human. You cease to be a hunter, blacksmith, knight, father or wife. A Warden is all that you are. Anything that may have been before, it had all happened to someone else. The Grey Wardens pay a price to become what they are, and that price is their lives. Not just dying in service to others, but completely erasing all that they were, as well. In a way, it was like dying twice.

Lyra sighed. She was a Warden, and perhaps that was all she was. So then what was she doing in Kirkwall? Grey Warden business, sure, but she certainly wasn't recruiting, as she had told Aveline. She couldn't put it into words, not yet. She just knew she had to be in Kirkwall, something had drawn her here, the path spread out before her, and though she could not see beyond the next bend, she had no choice but to follow it.

Hawke was watching her, waiting for an answer, yes, but reading her expressions too. He had always prided himself on his ability to read people but here again he was having trouble. He had thought it a simple question, 'How long has it been since you last saw your clan?' but apparently it was not a simple answer. Yet another mystery.

Lyra realized she had been staring into the flames for several minutes, looked at him and sighed, deciding on the only answer she could think of. "Too long," she said, and gave him a sad smile. "But I was born an elf, and whatever else I may be, a part of me will always be Dalish."

He nodded again, letting it go at that and they both sat, staring into their drinks for a while. Suddenly, both heads turned at the sounds of shouting out in the hall.

"Hawke!" the angry voice shouted again and the door to the library burst open and a lanky elf with unnatural grey/white hair stormed in. "Varrick just told me you helped three mages escape the city last night. What the hell were you thinking?" The elf was enraged, and for just a moment, she saw someone else standing in his place. She was shocked to see vaguely Dalish tattoos glowing a faint blue as he clenched his fists. Even the _valaslin_ were similar.

She forced Tamlen's image from her mind and donned a conspiratorial air as she leaned towards Hawke. "I don't think he likes you," she whispered loudly.

The elf spun towards her, seeing her for the first time. "Another elven servant, Hawke?" he snarled. "I thought Orana would be enough. Or is this one your mistress?"

Hawke sprang to his feet and took an angry step towards the elf. "Careful, Fenris," he warned, his voice low and menacing. She wondered if they would actually come to blows and decided it was time to intervene.

She rose to her feet, stepping deftly in between the two men, facing Fenris. "I am Lyra Mahariel. And I am neither his servant, nor his mistress." She purposefully set her glass on a nearby table, her eyes never leaving the elf. He was not like Tamlen, she decided. Tamlen had been fun loving, adventurous and completely carefree. This man was too angry, he had let it poison his soul and now he was a slave to it. _And what did the pot call the kettle?_ she reminded herself and quickly dismissed the entire subject. "And now, I believe it is time for me to leave you gentlemen. I have been rather looking forward to a warm bath and a soft bed."

Trouble untangled himself from the other dog and moved beside his master. He had be staring intently at Fenris since he burst into the room, growling softly and tensing his muscles, preparing to attack the strange elf if he made any threatening move towards Lyra. Now he stood beside her protectively.

Moira had paid little interest in Fenris' display of anger towards her master, having seen this sort of thing before, but now she whined at the other dog and Trouble glanced back at her then up at Lyra. "No you can't stay. These men obviously have much to discuss that does not involve us," she told him sternly.

"If you need a place to stay while you're in Kirkwall, there are many empty rooms here," Hawke said, studiously ignoring Fenris' snort of derision.

Lyra glared at Fenris for a moment then turned to Hawke. "Thank you, but no. Aside from the unavoidable misconceptions that would cause," she gave Fenris another scathing glance, "I have already acquired accommodations at an inn in Lowtown. The Hanged Man, I believe it was called."

Fenris stared at her in a mixture of shock and apprehension. "You can't stay there..."

Hawke grinned at him. "Ahh... Do I detect a note of concern for your fellow elf?"

Fenris spun on him, pointing a finger accusingly at Lyra. "She's a Dalish," he spat the word as if it were a curse. "We are NOT the same." He was acting like he had been insulted. Like being Dalish was something to be ashamed of.

Lyra put a hand in front of the her dogs face, silently telling him not to interfere, and took a step towards the other elf, her eyes flashing in cold rage. "I don't know you, Fenris," she said evenly, her expression hardening perceptibly. "Nor do you know me. Yet you seem to be determined to make an enemy of me. I can tell you this is not a wise decision on your part." Her voice was calm and level, but it had an edge to it, an edge even colder and sharper than the steel of her daggers. "One day soon we will have the opportunity to decide which of us is the better elf. And then the two of you can decide who is the better man," she glanced at Hawke, the ice never leaving her voice. "But today is not that day, gentlemen. I have had a very long and thirsty journey and thus I fear for my performance in this particular little pissing contest." Her features softened once more and she turned away from Fenris. "And now, gentlemen, I bid you goodnight," she said, nodding to each of them and starting for the still open door, her mabari following her obediently, as the two men stared after her in stunned silence. "Don't worry," she said over her shoulder, "I can show myself out."

The two men stared in silence for a while after she'd gone. Then the elf said "What the hell was that?"

"That," Hawke said, smirking, "was the Hero of Ferelden." He refilled his glass and sat back down.

Fenris looked at him in astonishment. "That little wisp of a girl killed an Archdemon?" he said incredulously.

Hawke nodded slowly, taking a sip of the amber liquid. "I think she likes you."

Fenris snorted. "And what could possibly make you think that?"

"Your still alive, for one," he said, eyeing the elf. "I was almost certain she was going to gut you where you stood."

Fenris turned again through the doorway where she'd gone. He would never admit it, but he had been convinced of it as well. He wondered how close she had come to pulling the twin daggers, how much restraint it took to stay her hand. After a long time he flopped into the chair where she had been sitting and, careful not to meet Hawke's gaze, he said, "So... drinking tonight?"

Hawke made a show of thinking it over. "Was thinking about it. Might head down to the Hanged Man... You?"

Fenris gave an exaggerated shrug. "There's a card game there tonight. Might play a hand or two," he said, his tone casual, as if there were could be no other ulterior motive.

"Sooo... See you there?"

"Yup."


	3. Chapter 3

Updated 08/04/12

* * *

><p>Welcome to Kirkwall<p>

Chapter 3: The Dogs of Ferelden and the Ferelden Dog

The tavern was already almost full by the time she got to the Hanged Man, but the bartender still saw her as soon as she entered.

"Oy," he called out. "Get that mutt out of 'ere." He was everything you would expect from a bartender, saggy jowls, gruff voice, right down to the stained apron he was currently using to polish a shot glass, although 'polish' was probably a bit too optimistic.

The room went silent, all eyes upon the small elf with the big dog. "I'm sorry," she said, "I don't know who you're referring to."

"I'm talking about that damn dog," he snorted. "I won't have it in my pub. Dogs is trouble."

"Well this one certainly is." She smiled at the bartender who had completely missed the joke. "The question is," she continued, as she slowly approached the bar. "Would it be more trouble letting him stay? Or trying to make him leave?" The dog was grinning, or perhaps simply showing off his nice shiny teeth. Trouble was following at her heels, and when she was close enough to the bartender to speak without raising her voice, she said "My name is Lyra, and this is, as you say, Trouble." The dog barked.

"Corff," the bartender grunted.

"Tell you what, Corff," she said. "You let me and old Trouble here stay a while, and you'll have the best guard-dog in Kirkwall at your service. You've heard of Mabari War-hounds, right? Smart enough not to talk, they say."

Corff grunted, and the war-hound stood on his hind legs, his front paws resting easily on the bar-top. The barman stepped backward hurriedly at the sight of the massive jaws and curiously expressive eyes that were suddenly at eye-level. "He'd, uh... certainly keep out the bad elements," he said diplomatically.

"He certainly would at that," Lyra nodded sagely.

The bartender made a show of thinking it over. "All right, fine. He can stay. But you better keep 'im in line."

Lyra laughed. "It usually works the other way around."

"And 'e sleeps in the kitchens. Won't have 'im tearin' up my rooms."

The dog cocked his head and managed to look slightly insulted. Then he dropped to the floor and wandered over to the door that led to the kitchens, hanging his head and glancing sullenly over his shoulder. He whined, putting on the saddest puppy-dog face of his life.

"The... uh... cook might 'ave some scraps for ya'," the bartender muttered, wondering vaguely why he felt like he should be apologizing to a dog. Trouble yipped and continued on into the kitchens, a much happier dog. Corff turned to Lyra. "He always like that?"

"He's a manipulative son of a bitch," she confirmed cheerfully.

The bartender grunted, "Rooms are up the stairs, down the hall. Last one on the left is yours," he said. Then, looking a little embarrassed continued, "Look... uh... you should know, I don't usually let rooms out to elves..."

"Why should I know that?" she asked, nonplussed, taking out a small pouch that rattled with coin and placing it on the bar. "I would imagine most elves wouldn't have the coin to afford your rooms anyway. And if you are concerned at the fact that I DO have the coin," her tone grew cold, and her eyes sharpened slightly, "take a look at the daggers on my back and remember how much you don't want trouble." She turned on her heel, without giving the man a chance to respond, and headed up the stairs.

The room was small, barely enough for the rough looking bed and table that occupied it, and she instantly felt that she had over-paid. She took up the lamp from the table and lit it. A small washstand had been placed in one corner of the room, a cracked mirror hung from a nail just above it. She eyed herself critically in the warped reflection, then unstrapped her daggers, placing them carefully on the table, then her armour was unclasped and let fall at the foot of the bed. The cloth bodice she wore underneath didn't hide much but it was more there as protection from the leather and metal of her armour than from any sense of decency anyway. She unwrapped her hand and let it soak for a minute in the cool water in the basin. She had wanted a bath, but it was already quite late and she settled for splashing water on her face and upper body and soaking her hair in the bowl for a few minutes, then spending a considerable few more fighting to get a brush through it.

When she was finished she took another look in the mirror. "Better," she said aloud. "Not much, but some."

Her damp hair shone brilliant red in the lamplight, as large slanted ice grey eyes stared back at her. The mass of red hair usually hid her delicately tapered ears, she could almost pass for a human child, perhaps if it were not for those slanted eyes, and the distinctly Dalish tattoos that weaved their patterns across her face, and down her neck and shoulders, disappearing beneath her clothing. Not that she would want to pass for a human, of course. She was perfectly content to be what she was and considered that if people had a problem with her, it was their problem, and most certainly not hers.

She turned away from the mirror. There was a small fireplace opposite the bed, presumably for warmth on colder nights, though Lyra was beginning to wonder if it ever actually cooled down in Kirkwall. Even now as darkness had almost completely overtaken the evening light, it still seemed to be sweltering hot. She opened the window in the hopes of letting in some of the slightly cooler night air. The sounds of the city filled her ears.

Hightown had been practically deserted by the time she had left the Amell estate, but it seemed that the population of Lowtown never slept. Or did so very noisily. She sighed ans stuck her head out the window. The roof of the tavern sloped away beneath her to a short drop onto the cobbles. _A handy escape route_, she mused. From the outside of the window you could also climb higher onto the roof, and then there was a mere foot or two of space separating the roof of the Hanged Man from the building next to it, which was much taller than this but the wood framing of the structure provided easy foot and handholds for an experienced climber.

Uniformity obviously hadn't been a major design element when this part of the city had been built. It almost looked as if Lowtown had been grown rather than constructed, each building being modified or expanded to suit the needs of its occupant. And so there was no consistency of shape or size of the buildings, some leaned together as if supporting each other, apartments had been added above businesses, lean-to's and sheds had solidified into permanent fixtures on the exteriors of some of the buildings, others were already so close together that the walls had simply been joined to created one large structure rather than separate dwellings. She could see a whole street like that off to the east a bit.

Lyra sighed again. _Too many people_, she thought distractedly. She missed the solitude of the forests. Even when travelling with her companions she could always disappear into the woods, hunting, scouting, keeping watch, or whatever excuse came to mind. Even here in her otherwise empty room she felt the congestion of the city around her. _People were like fireworks_, she decided. You pack enough of them together and the tiniest spark can set them off. And this city was ready to explode, if she was any judge.

A hesitant knock startled her out of her reverie. It sounded like the knock of someone who needed to make their presence known, but were unsure of the repercussions of doing so. She turned from the window and opened the door to the slightly worried face of the barkeep. "Excuse me, miss, but there's some men 'ere to see ya'."

"Oh?" A part of her was taken aback. She had just arrived, no one knew where she was, aside from Hawke and that elf, Fenris, and she doubted very much that either of them would have the least hesitation over coming to her room themselves instead of sending Corff. _Curiouser and curiouser_, she thought.

"I don't want no trouble here," Corff continued. "But they look the sort to start some. Wouldn't let 'em up so they's standin' around outside."

"Well, then. I'd better not keep them waiting. They might get bored and wander off." She suddenly realized what she was wearing, or more specifically what she was NOT wearing, and apologized, picking her armor off the bed and slipping it on.

The bartender mumbled something she couldn't make out, then seemed to realize what she was intending to do. "You don't want to go down there, miss," he said hurriedly. "They's trouble, I could see that a mile off. They's got swords and look like mercenaries. There's a lot o' them in Kirkwall these days."

"I'll be fine," she assured the man, fumbling with a stubborn buckle.

Corff was shuffling his feet. "One other thing, miss. Your dog's downstairs at the bar." The man seemed a little embarrassed by this revelation.

"Sampling your whiskey, is he?" she asked mildly, strapping on her daggers.

"Uh, no. He's, uh... minding the bar for me, miss."

"Might want to watch that then," she said smiling. "He has a tendency to short-change people."

Corff laughed, as if to say the dog could do no worse than he did himself on a nightly basis. Lyra started for the door. "But, miss?"

"Don't worry, my good man. I can more than handle a few armed men. You should get back to your other guests. And please leave the back door open for the dog. He's very smart but rather useless when it comes to door knobs." And with that she strode past the man and down the stairs to the bar. She could have used the window, but she was hoping to save that little trick for later. She had confidence in her ability to dispatch a few armed men, but doing that may draw unwanted attention to herself. Attention that she was hoping to avoid at all cost. She never used to think like this. Consequences and repercussions had always been what you dealt with later, not what you thought about first. But the world was changing around her, and she had apparently changed right along with it. Going from wild elf dashing mindlessly into the fray, to wise strategist, planning every move like a general. _Takes all the fun out of it_, she thought sadly, slightly annoyed at the change in herself, but even more annoyed that things seemed to work out better this way.

She grunted and shoved open the bar door, stepping out into the cool night air, expecting to be greeted by more leering men ready to carve a piece out of the little elf girl. But there was no one in sight. Even the convenient shadows seemed suspiciously empty. Perhaps they had wandered off. She took a few paces out of the lamplight, if it was to be an ambush then just about here...

Rough hands dragged her into an alleyway, pinning her arms behind her back quite effectively, and a blade was pressed to her neck. The man who had grabbed her seemed to be waiting for something. There were more of them, she knew, there had to be. If there was just one she would have had her throat slit by now, or would have had an arrow through the heart as soon as she stepped out of the tavern. There would be more, and they wanted to have a little fun.

Soon enough two other figures materialized out of the darkness. One had a longsword in hand, the other had a crossbow strapped to his back. Difficult weapons in close quarters, she thought. You're as likely to stab or shoot the man next to you as your enemy. She preferred her daggers. In any situation, they always hit their mark. Providing you can get your hands on them. The man hadn't disarmed her, byt with both arms twisted behind her back there was relatively little she could do.

"She don't look like much," the swordsman said a sneer plastered across his already disfigured face. This was a man who had seen many battles, and might have even won one or two. But she doubted it. It looked more like he had been on the receiving end of most of the blows. "You sure we got the right elf?"

"Course I'm sure," the man holding her snarled. "Knife-eared bitch broke a mans jaw. We can't be havin' with that." The stench of his alcohol laden breath was nauseating and she fought the urge to gag. The point of the knife dug into her flesh and she felt a small trickle of blood begin a slow path down her neck. "That means, we get to rough you up a bit." She could almost hear the nasty grin on his face.

"Oh my," she said. "Three big strong men, just to capture little old me? I must be a true terror in a real fight. Either that or you all are so bad at this you probably sliced off three of your own fingers before figuring out which end of the sword to hold."

The blow came without warning. A ham-like fist plowed into her stomach, knocking all the air from her lungs. Only the other mans hold on her arms and around her neck kept her upright as she struggled for breath. Someone wasn't playing around. She didn't know what Trouble was planning or even where he was but she and the dog had a fairly good understanding of one another and he always turned up when she needed him. Though she sometimes feared that his definition of 'need' was not quite the same as hers.

"You got a smart mouth for an elf," the man with the crossbow snarled. "Time someone shut it for you, fucking Ferelden dog." He backhanded her across the face, whipping her head around, the metallic taste of blood filling her mouth. That was going to leave a mark.

"I am not a Ferelden dog, I'm a Dalish Elf." She spat blood onto the rough cobbles. "THAT is a Ferelden dog." She nodded into the shadows, suddenly grinning at her attackers.

Then they all heard the low, menacing growl of an animal intent on blood, and saw the Mabari emerge, hackles raised, white fangs glistening in the pale light. They stood stock still for a moment, aware that the rules of their little game had changed, and were unsure of how to proceed.

"What are you waiting for?" the man holding her demanded, apparently the leader of the small group. "Shoot it!"

"Oh, I wouldn't do that if I were you," she cautioned. "You've heard of Mabari War-hounds, I'm sure? They're very smart, understand almost every word you say. And now he knows you mean to kill him. To him, that means he gets to kill you. Who do you think will manage it first?"

Trouble was advancing on the man holding Lyra, pure fury and blood-lust in his sharp eyes, muscles rippling beneath his tawny hide. 'Crossbow' reached for his weapon and Trouble spun on him, snarling viciously and snapping his powerful jaws inches from the mans leg. He jumped backward and tripped over a rubbish pile. The dog turned back towards the leader and started advancing again.

"Uhh, right. Ok, um. Do NOT kill the dog," he stammered.

Lyra nodded approvingly. "A very wise decision. Unfortunately for you, that logic also extends to his master... me," she said, in case they weren't very good with subtlety. She could see the other two men making their way towards the dog. She wasn't sure if Trouble didn't notice them or simply didn't think they were worth bothering about. Either way he was ignoring them. She needed to get out of this fast, before it turned into blood in the streets, perhaps even her own.

With amazing speed, Trouble spun towards the advancing men and charged, knocking 'Longsword' off his feet entirely and pushing 'Crossbow' into the opposite wall. It was all the distraction Lyra needed. She spun away from the third man as soon as she felt his grip lessen, drawing her daggers as she did so. Now it was he who had a blade to his throat, and another to his heart, if it came to that.

Lyra was smiling a humourless grin at the man as he backed into the stone wall in an attempt to escape her blades. The knife dropped from his hand, his eyes pleading surrender. "Good boy," she said, as if speaking to the dog who was carefully keeping the other two men away from the weapons they had dropped when he had attacked. "Now, why don't you three run along before you hurt yourselves? I'm sure you won't need your weapons. I shall leave them with Corff, the bartender, and you can pick them up later. Perhaps after I have left Kirkwall? I surely wouldn't want to see them with you, if we should ever meet again."

The three men took the hint and ran for it, leaving weapons and dignity behind. There were other things far more important. Continued breathing for one. Trouble chased after them for a few paces, barking at their retreating footsteps, and Lyra sighed, sheathing her daggers once more. "Always have to have the last word, don't you?" she said, when Trouble returned. The dog yipped at her, grinning madly. She smiled and ruffled the fur behind his ears.

She spun around, blades instantly in hand once more when she heard a sound from the opposite side of the street. It sounded like... clapping?

"Nicely done," a familiar voice called out to her. It was Hawke, the not-Champion of Kirkwall. He emerged into a pool of lamplight, grinning at her. "I would have intervened but by the time I got here you had things well in hand."

The daggers disappeared into their sheaths and she walked across the street towards him, a slight smile of relief on her face. "Indeed. Nice timing you've got there," she said sarcastically.

His features creased into lines of concern when she stepped into the lamplight and he saw the reddening mark across her left cheek. "Perhaps I should have gotten here a little sooner," he said, reaching up to better examine the injury. She pulled away from his touch and he shrugged. "I suppose you'll live."

"I should hope so. Can't let it be known that three petty thugs could take down the Hero of Ferelden," she laughed haughtily.

He was grinning again, but now there was a hint of concern as he eyed her. They hadn't looked like petty thugs to him. They had looked more like well armed and experienced mercenaries. But for now this was her show. "In that case its a shame you didn't dispatch them."

"I just had a wash," she complained. "Its the first time in weeks that I have been even remotely clean and I wasn't about to let them get their blood all over me."

He laughed, "Speaking of which..." he passed her a clean handkerchief. She gave him a puzzled look. "You're neck," he explained, and suddenly remembering, she took it and began dabbing at the small cut.

She offered it back to Hawke who shook his head and she stuffed the slightly bloody hanky into the sleeve of her wrist guard.

"And now, you must allow me to buy you a drink," Hawke said definitively. She began to protest, and he gave a frustrated sigh. "A WATER then." Trouble gave a short bark. "And a bowl of ale for your bodyguard." Trouble grunted his agreement.

"Very well," Lyra sighed. "Lead on, not-Champion." she gave him a sidelong glance as he grimaced. Then he grinned and they walked back across the street and into the tavern.

All eyes were on them as they reentered the tavern. Correction... all eyes were on Hawke. No one seemed to care about the elf standing to the side and slightly behind him. He overshadowed her, not only in mere size but also by the warm greeting he received and a few glasses that were raised in his direction. It felt strange not to be the centre of attention. She wasn't jealous, not exactly. She'd received more than her share of accolades back home and after all HE was their champion, not her. She shoved the unwelcome feelings to the back of her mind as they made their way to the bar.

By the time they got there, when Hawke was finished shaking hands with everyone within arms reach and a few who weren't, Corff had already poured him a glass of ale, and not the cheap swill he served the regulars from a keg, but the good stuff he kept in the back for his elite patrons. Hawke ordered a glass of water and a bowl of ale. The bartender was a bit off-put when asked for the bowl, but then he saw the dog, who barked happily at him. He shook his head, poured the ale, and placed the bowl on the floor by the bar.

They sat down on a couple of vacant chairs next to the bar, Lyra was given her water, and Hawke sipped at his ale. It may have been Corff's select stock, but it still tasted like horse piss.

"So, how are you finding our fair city?"

"Fairly easily," she replied. "It was right there when I stepped off the boat." He shook his head and smiled, taking another swallow of the bitter ale. "It's very crowded," she said finally, "not at all what I'm used to."

"Yes, I suppose life as a Dalish is quite different from Kirkwall."

"I don't mean that. I mean, well, yes, it is different, but I was referring to the city itself. Even Denerim isn't as crowded as this. There are people everywhere. You've stacked them on top of one another like cord wood."

"Not me," Hawke protested. "I didn't do it."

She sighed, "You know what I mean. This city was not meant for so many people. And if steps aren't taken..." she let her voice trail off. What business did she have telling anyone how they should run their city? Hadn't she failed quite spectacularly the last time she had tried that? Besides, it wasn't her city, she was here now but she never intended it to be permanent.

The sight of Fenris entering the tavern interrupted her thoughts. She watched as he made his way over to a card table in the corner and was promptly dealt in. After a few moments a heated discussion began with a few gestures in her direction. Fenris' gaze locked on hers and he rose abruptly from the table and stalked up to the bar where Hawke and Lyra were sitting.

"It's you," Fenris stated angrily.

_Good gods, what now?_ Lyra thought, mentally rolling her eyes.

"You attacked Marlon Voorhees," he said, eyeing her up and down. It wasn't a question, it was a statement, but one that he couldn't believe could be true.

"Glad to hear it," she said. "And who is this person?"

Hawked turned towards her. "That man who threatened you. Big greasy bastard? Bad teeth?"

"And equally bad breath," she remembered. "Yes, that sounds like him. He mentioned the name Marlon, but he kept referring to himself in the third person so I was never quite sure who he was talking about. Why, is he important?"

"Not him," Fenris scoffed, "His brother."

"Marcus Voorhees runs one of the mercenary gangs in town. This particular gentleman is very big on retribution," Hawke said, now looking genuinely concerned.

"Oh, good," she said smiling a bright, artificial smile at the both of them. "And here I thought my stay in Kirkwall would be boring... Those men outside?"

Hawke nodded. "Voorhees men. They'll think twice about coming after you again, that is until they can get a few more men together for the job. But you've already shown your ace in the hole." He nodded towards the dog who was quietly lapping at his drink. "Won't be as easy next time. They'll be ready for you."

"And I'll be ready for them," she shrugged dismissively.

"Stupid girl..." Fenris began angrily, but she cut him off with a wave of her hand.

"You remember our conversation earlier, Fenris? Today is STILL not that day." Her icy gaze locked with his.

Fenris glared at her, shaking with pent up frustration and rage. Finally he stalked out of the tavern, angrily slamming the door behind him.

Lyra was watching him leave, looking thoughtful. "Do you suppose he ever tires of these dramatic entrances and exits? Does he practice? Or do you think it comes naturally?"

Hawke shrugged, "I think he was born with a dramatic entrance, to tell the truth."

She smiled and nodded, he probably was at that. "He's a friend of yours?"

Hawke seemed to be thinking about this for a while. "He is a... companion."

Lyra laughed at this. "I always used to say, 'Companion does not mean the same as friend.'"

Hawke smiled. "Very true. But, enough about our broody elf," he said with an air of finality. He leaned towards her, elbows resting on the table. "I'm more interested in you."

She shrugged. "What would you like to know?"

"Well, lets start with how you became a Grey Warden, if you don't mind my asking, that is. The stories we hear out here are quite varied."

"Oh? What have you heard?" she asked, feigning detached interest. She doubted very much that anyone knew the truth, but it was always helpful to know what everyone else was thinking, true or not.

"Well, in one of them, I believe you were an elven princess who was blamed for your brothers death and cast out of your clan. In another, your home was destroyed by bandits so you took up the sword and went hunting revenge. I think there's even one about you killing a nobleman and being sentenced to death but you were conscripted at the last minute. And of course there's my personal favorite," he lowered his voice and leaned forward. "You're really an apostate mage in disguise who escaped the Circle only to be found and taken in by the Grey Wardens."

She raised her eyebrows in surprise. "That's your favourite?"

"What can I say?" he said, leaning back. "I have a soft spot for escaped mages. You could say its part of my heritage," he laughed.

She knew there was something she was missing, but decided against pressing him about it. "Sorry to disappoint, but I am no mage."

"No? Not even a little?" He sighed dramatically when she shook her head. "Very well then, whats the real story?"

"Not much to tell really. Certainly nothing as exciting as the tales you've heard, I'm sure." She paused, but his interest did not appear to have waned at the admission. She sighed, "The short version is that A Grey Warden found me, Conscripted me and brought me to Ostagar. The rest you probably already know."

"There's more to it than that, I'm sure," Hawke said, grinning. She was teasing him, she had to be. What reason could she have for being secretive? She was the Hero of Ferelden, after all.

"Yes," she said bitterly, turning on him, suddenly angry. "I imagine there is more to it than that. But it's not a tale I tell for the asking. Certainly not to a..." She stopped herself before finishing the sentence, but it made little difference.

"To a human?" Hawke said slowly. He had been surprised by the sudden outburst but then he supposed everyone had stories they didn't enjoy telling. Maker knew he had a few himself. It added to the mystery.

She smiled weakly at him. "Sorry," she said. "I didn't mean it like that, its just... Old habits, you know?"

He waved a hand. "Don't worry about it. I've been called far worse than human, trust me." Neither spoke for a while, each lost in their own thoughts.

"You asked me earlier how long it had been since I had seen my clan," Lyra said finally. "The truth is I have never been back. Even after my quest, if you want to call it that, was finished. And now, here I am. Hundreds of miles from everyone and everything I ever knew. Sometimes I think about going back, seeing my clan-mates again. But now that I'm here, its rather impossible."

Hawke nodded, and expression of understanding on his face. He had once thought about going back too. But with Lothering gone, there didn't seem much point. Suddenly, he looked up and said, "Huh, Merrill's here."

"What? You mean here? In Kirkwall?" Lyra said. Her voice expressed stunned surprise, as if he had just announced that the gods themselves had stopped in for a drink.

He looked at her in complete and utter confusion. "I mean here... in the Hanged Man."

Lyra stood up so fast the bar stool she had been occupying clattered to the ground. She heard a delighted squeal of surprise from somewhere in the vicinity of the entrance, then "Lyra!" and a small, pixie-like elf cannoned into her.

"I take it you two know each other..."


	4. Chapter 4

Updated 08/04/12

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><p>Welcome to Kirkwall<p>

Chapter 4: The Elf in the Mirror and the Mirrored Elf

The two elves fell in a heap against the bar, Hawke moving quickly out of the way before his stool was also upset.

"Do you know who this is?" she said to Hawke, her eyes never leaving Lyra. "This is Lyra Mahariel!" She paused, as if really seeing Lyra for the first time. "Oh my gods, what happened to your face?"

Lyra grinned ruefully, rubbing at the reddened mark on her cheek. "Oh, the mercenaries in this town just LOVE me."

Merrill was grinning again. "You never could stay out of trouble for more than five minutes at a time," she giggled. "I just can't believe you're here!" Merrill exclaimed after a moment, her eyes bright with tears. She wrapped her arms around Lyra's still stunned frame and squeezed fiercely, as though Lyra was in danger of vanishing if she did not hold on.

"Merril," Lyra croaked, "Merrill, I can't breathe..."

Slowly, Merrill's grip lessened and she backed away from Lyra allowing Lyra to get a better look at her long lost clan-mate. She was still shorter than Lyra, and she seemed skinnier than Lyra remembered. She still wore her dark hair in a short pixie cut, that accentuated her heart shaped face and large almond eyes, but there were dark circles around them now, and a slightly haunted look that had never been there before.

"A can't believe its really you," Merrill said grinning from ear to ear. "This is real right? I'm not dreaming am I?"

"I could pinch you, if you like," Lyra suggested cheerfully.

The smile faltered. "Umm... no... You pinch really hard, as I recall..."

"For the Creators sake, Merrill," Lyra said, throwing her hands in the air. "It was a long time ago. We were kids, get over it."

Merrill's grin returned larger than ever. "It IS you!" She hugged Lyra again. "I've got so much to tell you. So much has happened since you left-"

"Merrill..."

"Fenarel is First Hunter now. I think he still has a thing for you, you know. All he talks about is, Lyra this and Lyra that, and Lyra killed the Archdemon. Did you kill the Archdemon? I mean really kill it?"

"Merrill?"

"Fenarel said you ripped off the dragons head with your bare hands, and killed every darkspawn from Denerim to.."

"Merrill!"

"Huh? What?" The mile-a-minute voice finally halted, and Merrill stood there looking slightly confused.

"Slow down... Breathe once in a while," Lyra laughed.

Merrill grinned sheepishly up at her friend. "Sorry... got a bit carried away. I'm just so excited to see you. Are you going back to the Clan now? They are camped at the base of Sundermount."

Lyra was studiously trying to ignore the question of going back. But Hawke's words came back to her, _You can hardly consider yourself a Dalish now, can you?_ If the humans didn't even consider her a Dalish elf anymore, how could she expect her Clan to say different, when the Keeper herself had cast her out. Her expression showed none of this, and rather than dwell on the bothersome topic she instead focused on something else Merrill had said. "They?" she asked curiously.

"I..." Merrill faltered and hung her head. "I live in the Alienage in Kirkwall now..." She was silent for a time, as if unsure of how this revelation would be received. But when no scathing remarks were forthcoming, she brightened. "I have my own house, you know. My very own! I don't have to share with anyone!"

"And quite the house it is," Hawke interjected having regained his seat once the danger of elven avalanche had passed.

Merrill turn on him in full pout. "Not everyone can live in a mansion, Garrett."

"You could," he said, and winked.

Her eyes widened in shock and her face turned a deep red, bordering on purple. "I... you... Don't SAY things like that," she hissed.

"Is there something I should know?" Lyra said, a playful smile on her lips.

"No!" Merrill answered a bit too quickly, then, before Hawke could make another comment, said, "He likes teasing me."

Hawke laughed, "I just enjoy watching your ears turn red."

She made a face at him which made him laugh again. Apparently Lyra wasn't the only one who enjoyed his easy laughter. Merrill made an effort to suppress the blush and turned her attention back to Lyra. "What were we talking about? Oh, right! My house. You'll come see it won't you?"

"Tonight?" she asked, the events of the day were weighing on her, and she knew utter exhaustion was just around the corner if she didn't find her way to that soft bed she had been promising herself for hours.

"You will, won't you?" Merrill glanced at Hawke who shrugged as if to say it had nothing to do with him. She turned back to Lyra, almost pleading with her. "Please, _lethallan_?"

Lyra looked up at her in surprise. It had been so long since anyone had called her that, the word sounded strange in her ears. A word she had heard every day of her life before becoming a Grey Warden had become unfamiliar to her. _You can hardly consider yourself a Dalish now... _Lyra sighed and smiled at her one-time clan-mate and nodded.

Merrill squealed in delight and hugged her again then took her hand and started for the door.

Trouble looked up from his still half full bowl and whined. "Yes, you can stay and finish you're drink," Lyra replied. The dog yipped and went back to his bowl. "I think my dog is an alcoholic," she muttered to herself as Merrill led her out the door and into the night air which was finally beginning to cool, the streets emptying as the night progressed.

She followed closely as Merrill headed confidently through the twists and turns of Lowtown, her eyes watching the shadows and ears tuned to the night sounds, only half listening as Merrill continued talking about anything and everything. You could practically hear the exclamation marks. She got the feeling that someone was following them, and she kept glancing backward now and then, but whoever it might be was clever enough to stay in the shadows and out of sight.

Merrill took no notice of Lyra's odd behaviour, too excited to pay much heed to anything. Lyra wondered idly how long it would take for Merrill to notice if she suddenly disappeared into the night, and back to her bed. But she suppressed the idea. Whatever she had to show her was obviously very important to her, and here was someone from her past who still considered her a friend. Lyra thought of all that had changed since she left the clan, how bitter and angry she had become, and the things she had done out of that bitterness. It was an odd feeling to have a friend of her own kind again, like when she had called her _lethallan_. She knew this kinship may very well have an expiry date, and something within her wouldn't let her abandon it just yet.

Lyra knew it immediately as soon as they entered the alienage. It wasn't just the _Vhenadahl_, The Tree of the People, that she recognized from visiting the alienage in Denerim. It was the sense of despair, almost hopelessness. Even with the streets emptied she could still feel it, see it in the poorly constructed and even more poorly maintained houses. At least here the sick and the dying weren't left lying in the streets. The thought that they might do something even worse with their ill flashed through her mind before she could stop herself and she dismissed it as quickly as it had come, focusing instead on Merrill who was still chattering away, blissfully unaware of how one-sided the conversation had become.

Merrill finally stopped at the door of one of the closely spaced houses and opened the door. "Here we are! My home."

It wasn't a large house, only two rooms, living area/kitchen and a bedroom, but there was room enough for Merrill's books and artifacts which Lyra could see in stacks around the room and piled on the table, presumably there were more in the bedroom but Merrill had hung up an old blanket in the doorway, obscuring the smaller room. And, as Merrill had said, she didn't have to share with anyone, which was practically unheard of in a Dalish camp.

"It's a bit of a mess," Merrill said as she cleared some books off the second of two chairs and rearranged them between the fireplace and the table. "I wasn't expecting company." She smiled apologetically as they sat down, then said, "I would offer you some Wine of the _Elvehn_ but I gave my last bottle to Garrett... I mean Hawke..."

Lyra noted the slip with interest and grinned at the smaller elf. "I was wondering how he came to have that." She laughed at Merrill's shocked expression. "He offered it to me earlier, but I declined." Then grinning mischievously said, "You really should tell him what it's for."

The blush was creeping back into Merrill's cheeks and she said, a bit defensively, "It doesn't have to mean anything. To a _shemlen_ its just a drink..."

Lyra eyed her. "Uh-huh... So you're saying it's not the Wine of the Bonding Ceremony as long as he doesn't know that it is."

"It was just a gift!" she protested "He gave me a carving of a _halla_ and I wanted to give him something in return. It doesn't mean anything..."

"You're even exchanging gifts..."

"No! It's not like that... We're just..." Merrill caught the look on Lyra's face and stopped. "You're teasing me, aren't you?" Lyra couldn't suppress the laughter any longer. "You are, aren't you? You're just as bad as he is!"

"Worse, some days," Lyra chuckled as Merrill tried to maintain a glare, which failed and she shook her head and sighed. "Seriously though, what is going on between you and 'Garrett'? And don't say "Nothing"."

Merrill's mouth closed quickly and she took another stab at a glare when Lyra used the familiar name, but it fell almost instantly. "We're just... friends." She caught Lyra's look, "Honestly, nothing is going on." She was reddening again. since she had come to Kirkwall, Hawke had been her only friend. Always there for her when she needed to talk, helping her when no one else would. Sure he was handsome, but he was still a human after all. "We're just..."

"Merrill, he asked you to move in with him." She held up a hand, cutting off Merrill's protest. "And I get the feeling its not the first time he's asked either."

Merrill sighed, she knew her friend well enough to know that she wasn't going to let go of this until she got an answer she could believe. "He's handsome, all right? And he makes me laugh. I do like him... a lot. Perhaps too much." Lyra nodded for her to continue. "But can you imagine what people would say? An elf and a human? I hear that sort of thing is still outlawed in a lot of places. We could never have children. All our children would be human, and you know how the People feel about that. The Clan already hates me, could you imagine what they would say about me living with a human? And the Keeper..." she shook her head, she could just see the Keeper launching a tirade at her. But no, that was not Keeper Marethari's way. Her eyes would go all sad, and she would look at her like she was the greatest disappointment she had ever known.

Lyra watched the smaller elf as she hung her head. She knew she was thinking of Keeper Marethari. The way she could look at you and see straight through you, making you feel so small and unworthy. "But you're not with the clan now, _lethallan_."

"I know," Merrill sniffed. She looked as if she was about to cry, her voice small and weak. "There were... differences of opinion." Lyra gave her a quizzical glance. "You know how I've always been sort of an outsider." Lyra nodded. She knew all about being an outsider. "Being First to the Keeper always set me apart. I was always more interested in herbs, and potions than hunting and fishing, like the rest of the Clan. When I started doing real magic, it got worse. Like they weren't just looking down on me, but now they actually feared me." Lyra wondered what she meant by 'real magic' but said nothing. This was her story to tell after all, questions could come later. "I never did anything that would harm the Clan. All I ever did was try to help, but everything always went... wrong. They couldn't see what I was really doing. So, I left. I needed to go someplace where I could do my research in peace. Without anyone looking over my shoulder, or looking down on me just because they didn't understand."

Lyra nodded again. She did understand. Living in the world so long she had seen all to well the fear, hatred and even violence that a lack of understanding could bring. Wars had been started for less. Her mind flashed to the Templars and the mages here in Kirkwall. Wars WOULD be started... And there was something at the heart of it all. A power greater than she had ever known or felt. There was something else here, driving the chaos before it like the thunderhead before the true storm. Something even the darkspawn feared...

"What about you?"

"Hmm?" Lyra said absently, lost in thought and not really listening anymore.

"Why didn't you ever go back?" Merrill asked.

Lyra could hear the hurt in her voice. Like her leaving had been some kind of personal insult, and never coming back, a betrayal. She could not meet Merrill's gaze and instead stared into the fire, thinking desperately on what to tell Merrill. She could tell her of how she had changed, how resentful she had become over being sent away. But maybe it was everyone else who had changed. The world was too different now. She missed the days when the world consisted of the Clan, the forest, and the occasional wandering human. It had gotten so much bigger since she had left. Now it contained cities full of people, dwarven kingdoms with underground palaces, oceans and deserts and vast mountain ranges concealing the lairs of monstrous dragons and... none of it mattered. All these emotions and thoughts that she couldn't quite put into words, while all true, had nothing to do with why she had never gone back.

"I made an oath," Lyra said finally. "And I have not yet be able to fulfil it." Another half-truth. The flickering light danced in her icy grey eyes, unwilling and unable to see anything but the flames.

"But you killed the Archdemon, didn't you? You ended the blight."

"Not that oath, Merrill." She continued to stare intently into the blaze, determined not to see Merrill's expression as realization dawned on her.

"Oh..." she said slowly. Then in a quiet voice, full of reverence, but edged in hope, "Did you ever find Tamlen?" she received no response. "I've been studying ways that maybe I could-"

"He's gone Merrill," Lyra said quickly. But Merrill was getting excited now.

"That's what the Grey Warden said too, remember? And you said that gone didn't necessarily mean dead, so I thought-"

"This time it does," Lyra said, trying desperately to keep her voice calm and quiet.

Merrill's tone became cautious "What do you mean? What happened?"

Lyra frowned, her brow wrinkling in a mixture of tortured resentment. She didn't even know what she resented more, her role in what had happened, or having to retell it. The memory could be put aside and almost forgotten about, but at the slightest mention, it reasserted itself into the forefront of her mind, the emotions so strong it could have happened yesterday. "He's dead, Merrill," she said finally, her voice sounding tormented and hoarse. "Leave it at that. I... I watched him die."

Merrill's hands flew to her mouth in horror. "Oh my gosh! What happened?"

She thought about telling her about the taint, how Tamlen had become a sick and twisted creature, his mind warped and body disfigured. She thought about telling her how she had to do it, he had attacked her and she had to defend herself. But it all sounded like excuses, the words tasted hollow and meaningless; wrong. "He was sick," she finally managed, "Beyond all hope. It was the taint... It killed him." She hated herself for saying it. It was a lie. A damnable lie. But she couldn't bring herself to tell Merrill the truth.

"I'm so sorry," Merrill said and reached out an arm in comfort.

Lyra stood abruptly moving out of reach and began to pace in front of the fire. She didn't want comfort. She had lied so she wouldn't have to listen to the platitudes of 'You did the right thing' or 'It's for the best'. She knew these things, she'd heard them said many times. They didn't help, nothing did. She didn't know what she wanted, but it wasn't more words. It had been easy to forget when she was fighting the darkspawn, when death loomed all around her. But all the headlong rushing into danger was over and now... There was just too much time to think on things best left buried. "It was a long time ago," she said. "and I- Whats that?" The firelight had glinted off of something in the other room. Just for a second it looked like... She turned on Merrill, who refused to meet her gaze. "Merrill?" she said coldly, struggling to keep her voice calm.

"You have to understand-"

Lyra spun away from her and marched towards the doorway, tearing back the makeshift curtain and stood in horror in front of a large mirror. It could have been any mirror, expensive perhaps, with intricate carvings and lettering around the frame, but it wasn't just any mirror. She recognized it instantly. She could even make out the faint edges of the pieces that had been carefully put back in place after Duncan had smashed it. She stared in wide eyed horror at the thing that had taken everything from her. Even more than the Grey Wardens who had taken her away from her home, the Keeper, who had banished her. More than any of them, she blamed this mirror.

Merrill had followed her into the room, eyes still downcast. "Let me explain-" Her voice was pleading.

Lyra whirled on her in cold fury. "Explain?!" she roared. "What could you possibly say that could make me understand why you took this... this thing and... and what? Are you trying to fix it? It's evil, Merrill, can't you see that? Can't you feel the pure evil?"

"No! It's not! I purified it! It won't hurt anyone anymore. I promise! Think of all we could learn from it." Merrill was pleading with her now, but Lyra was having none of it.

"Purified it?" Lyra raged, incredulously. How could she be so naive? "What could you possibly learn from it? It stole my life from me, almost killed me. It took Tamlen. What more do you need to know?" The rage was subsiding, settling into a mass of hatred and contempt, like a block of ice in the pit of her stomach. "Destroy it, Merrill. For your own sake and the sake of everyone around you, destroy it. If you don't, I will."

Tears were streaming down Merrill's cheeks as Lyra pushed her way past her and headed for the door. "I was going to use it to find Tamlen," she wailed. "You were supposed to help me. You were supposed to understand!"

Lyra stopped, her hand on the door latch. "Understand? That mirror is responsible for everything that has happened to me. And you want me to understand..." Her voice was calm, cold, but calm, and she didn't look back as she spoke. Didn't want to see her one-time friend looking so broken, so betrayed. She knew now why Merrill was no longer with the clan. A disagreement? The Keeper would never have stood for such a thing as this. At first, the Keeper had wanted to restore the mirror as well, but she, at least had seen the truth of it when Duncan had told her of the evil it contained and why he had destroyed it. Why couldn't Merrill see it?

She left without saying another word. There was nothing more to say. She closed the door behind her, resisting the urge to slam the door on Merrill, the mirror, and everything she had left behind so long ago. Everything that refused to stay in the past. She had never been to Kirkwall before, but it seemed like coming here had been like stepping into her own past. In Ferelden it was all about the present and the future; the battles that were upon her and the wars still left to fight. She could soak herself in the blood of her enemies and in so doing erase all that had happened before. Here she could feel the fingers of memory probing at her, tugging at her soul, dragging her back, back into a time she would rather forget. Coming here was a mistake, a damned great mistake.

"She's a blood mage, you know." The voice emanated from the darkest shadows of the massive tree that dominated the central square as she walked past and up the steps that lead out of the alienage. She had been so caught up in her own thoughts that its presence, and the presence of the speaker startled her, but she hesitated only an instant when Fenris emerged from the shadows and fell into step beside her.

She nodded curtly and kept walking, her pace that of someone on a mission. She walked as if she was out to kill someone, and in this instance, she didn't particularly care who. "She said she'd purified that damnable mirror," she said finally, when it became clear that Fenris intended to keep pace with her. She noted the curious expression on his face. He knew about the mirror, obviously, but only that it was some sort of magical device. He knew nothing of its nature, its history, or its power. "Something like that could not have come from any normal magic. Only a demon could provide that kind of power."

He was silent a while, only the soft sounds of their footfalls breaking the silence between them. "You have a history with this mirror."

"You could say that," she snarled. "In fact, you could say that mirror made me what I am today."

"The Hero of Ferelden?" he scoffed. "I don't see how that's such a bad thing."

Lyra made a growling noise in her throat. "No, I don't suppose you would. Let me put it this way then. That mirror destroyed the life I should have had."

They had reached The Hanged Man and she was already starting through the door when he said, "What? Living in the forest like a savage?"

She whirled on him in sudden fury. "Yes! Living in the forests with my Clan, my family. Hunting for our food, running the mountain paths, living my life with..." She stopped herself before mindless anger overcame good sense and caused her to say things that were never meant to be said... to anyone. She could see the surprised look on Fenris's face. Was it the sudden outburst? Or the things she had almost said. _Revealing too much_, she scolded herself. _Keep yourself to yourself. It's what you've always done and it's served you well. Don't start breaking your own rules. _"You may not think much of me," she snarled. "But don't you dare judge me."_  
><em>

Before Fenris could say another word, she turned away from him and into the tavern. She moved blindly though the crowd towards the stairs to her room, her mind filled with images and memories of a life lived so far away and long ago that it wasn't even real anymore. Forests, caves, monsters, and a mirror. Hawke may have called to her as she passed, but she didn't hear over the terror ridden screaming in her own head.


	5. Chapter 5

**Authors Note: **_New chapter folks, been a long time coming, I know, and I apologize for the delay. Hope you enjoy. Not sure if I'm entirely happy with this one, Lyra went somewhere I wasn't expecting, but I'll let you judge for yourself. Reviews welcome as always_

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><p>Welcome to Kirkwall<p>

Chapter 5: The Forest and the Trees

Sleep did not come easily, and when it had, she was plagued by dreams of ancient ruins, with twisting staircases and endless corridors, all leading to the same room. A mirror stood in the center of it, its surface swirling with a dark mist. And in the mirror the figure of an elf, his features distorted, only the eyes, sunken and staring, distinguishable in the darkness. Those eyes, and a strange pulsating red light that seemed to come from within him. She felt drawn toward the figure as skeletal hands protruded through the mirror, reaching for her, grabbing at her clothes, pulling her in. And somewhere, a dragon roared.

Her own scream had woken her from the nightmare, and she bolted upright, her eyes casting around wildly. Her mind was still in the dream; memory slow in returning, as she took in the unfamiliar surroundings, table, fireplace, wash stand. Her armour on the floor where she had dropped it the night before after... It came back in a rush, Kirkwall, The Hanged Man, Hawke, Merrill... and the mirror. She rubbed a hand over her face. _Damn that mirror,_ she thought angrily._ And damn Merrill for bringing it out here. And damn me for not destroying it right then and there,_ she paused in her mental tirade. Then said aloud to no one in particular, "And damn me for staying out half the night." It was hard enough for her to get a good nights sleep these days. _Especially with these damn dreams haunting me every time I close my eyes._

The sky outside was still dark with only a faint line of grey on the horizon, indicating the coming dawn, but she knew sleep would not return. She disentangled herself from the blankets that had twisted around her as she thrashed in her sleep, rose from the bed and went to the wash stand, splashing some water on her face, then shaking her head, spraying water droplets around the room.

"I think I've picked up some bad habits from you," she mused, looking at her dog, who had slunk onto her now vacant bed crawled under the blankets and was almost instantly asleep. "How did you get up here anyway?" Trouble snored loudly, and Lyra was almost sure he was faking. She smiled and shook her head. "Its no wonder I dream of dragons every night, with you around." The dog grunted and rolled over, his back to her, indicating in no uncertain terms that he didn't care in the least.

She sighed again, grabbed a piece of slightly stale bread and climbed out of the window to watch the sunrise the dream still fresh in her mind. It was that damned mirror. It began and ended right there. At the moment she had been tainted she had been flung onto a path not of her choosing, and there was nothing she could do but follow it through. She never wanted this life, fighting darkspawn, the taint and whatever else came her way. Now that she thought about it, that was probably why Alistair had hated her so much toward the end.

Alistair had always thought of being a Grey Warden as a duty and an honour. She had always seen it as a curse. A curse that should have ended with the death of the dragon. That was how it was supposed to work. The soul of the Archdemon was absorbed by the Warden who struck the final blow, destroying them both. It was her Fate and she accepted it, welcomed it in fact. An ending to this cursed half-life she had never asked for. And she had struck that blow, driving her daggers deep into the beasts brain, then slicing its throat. There was a blinding flash of light, and then darkness, sweet dreamless darkness. But it was not to be. She had awoken some time later, confused and shaken. This wasn't right. She should be with the ancestors. Was the dragon not dead? Had she not been the one to kill it?

Realization had dawned slowly. Morrigan! The witch. Before ever heading off to kill the Archdemon she had made Lyra an offer. She said she knew a Grey Warden must die in the killing of the dragon, but there was a ritual she could perform in order to stop that from happening. All she needed was Alistair's help. Lyra had refused outright. Alistair was going to be King. He couldn't be involved in any dark magic as this was surely to be. She hadn't even told Alistair of the ritual. Morrigan must have gone behind her back and suggested it herself, the witch. But what was more shocking was that Alistair could have accepted. He had disliked Morrigan even more than he had Lyra. Besides he was a former Templar. It was rediculous to think he would participate in some dark ritual to save the life of someone he had never liked to begin with.

And yet, here she was, still alive. Morrigan had disappeared, Alistair became king, and she went off to become Warden Commander. She scoffed at the thought. She hadn't been given the title out of any sort of merit, she was sure. She firmly believed they had made her commander simply because there was no one else around. Sure, she had done what she had to do, but not in order to be a hero. She did it because she had to. Given the choice?... Given the choice she didn't know what she would have done. But that was the problem wasn't it? She had never been given that choice. She wasn't a hero, and she certainly didn't deserve a title. She proved that at Amaranthine. And now here she was in Kirkwall searching for who knew what. All she knew was that she had been drawn to this place. Again, following a path not of her choosing. The dreams were more intense here and after seeing that mirror... She knew the mirror was part of it, it had to be. But there was something else, something larger, and much more powerful at work. But before she could think about that she had to know what had happened after Duncan had destroyed the mirror. How had Merrill come to posess it, how had she come to be in Kirkwall, for that matter. And the only person who might be able to give her answers, was the one person she least wanted to see.

Lyra sighed, staring at the half eaten bread in her hand. There was nothing for it, and if it had to be done, then it should be done quickly, like pulling quills from a festering wound. She had to see the Keeper.

The sky was fully light by now as she stood up and tossed the stale bread over the edge of the roof, then climbed back inside her room. Trouble was still snoring away, the blankets wrapped around him, head upon her pillow. She supposed she should have been angry with him for leaving dog hair on her pillow but for the amount of times the dog had BEEN her pillow she wasn't terribly worried about it. She decided to let him sleep.

She fought a comb through her long hair for a while as she stood in front of the cracked mirror. But she wasn't really seeing her reflection, her mind had wandered off down a trail containing Merrill, a mirror, and a whole clan of Dalish elves who may or may not want to see her.

She sighed. The fact was a part of her did want to see her clan again. Seeing Merrill had resurrected feelings and thoughts that went far beyond anything she would like to admit. That part of her life was over and it was best to simply forget about it and get on with her life, whatever had been left her. And she thought she had. The struggle over whether she should go back or not was meaningless. She had already accepted that she would never go back. That possibility had died along with Tamlen. The oath she had made to herself, and to him, still haunted her. She would return to the clan with Tamlen or not at all. And with him gone... But here again, she had no choice.

She turned away from the mirror, she didn't like what she saw anymore. She could feel the bitterness and anger at her own futility threatening to overwhelm her once again and she knew she had to get out. Get out of the inn, out of Kirkwall entirely, and away from all these damnable people. She needed to feel the earth beneath her feet, the cool wind in her face, and the silence of the forest all around her. She needed to run.

She strapped on the light armour quickly and secured the daggers to her back. She though about taking along her hunting bow, but decided against it. The less she carried the better. Besides, she could hunt just as well with daggers and her throwing knives as with a bow and arrows.

Corff nodded to her as she passed through the mostly empty tavern and out into the morning sunlight, but she took no notice of him. What she did notice was the lanky white haired elf sleaning against the side of the building opposite the Hanged Man, a surely expression on his face.

"Don't you have a home?" she demanded testily. "Or are you stalking me now?" She saw him shrug noncommittally and she turned away from him, heading towards the nearest city exit.

He easily fell into step beside her. "Voorhees is still after you," he said slowly. "You're going to need protection."

"What makes you think I need..." She stopped when she saw the expression on his face, he looked just as annoyed as she was and realization dawned on her. "This wasn't your idea, was it? Hawke asked you to look out for me." Fenris said nothing and she cursed under her breath. "I don't need your protection."

"Prove it," he snarled, his expression hardening. He stopped in the street, forcing her to turn and face him.

"What did you say?" she said with an unmistakable edge to her voice.

"Prove to me that you don't need my protection." He wasn't reaching for his sword, but he was challenging her all the same. "Perhaps today IS that day." He wasn't joking. His annoyed expression had turned almost angry as he glared at her. He was deadly serious, and he was waiting for her to decide.

She glared back at him, then let her eyes rove over his body, sizing him up. Determining what sort of battle she was in for if it truly came to that. He was a warrior. The massive greatsword that probably weighed as much as she did told her that. Yet despite his armour and the weight of the sword strapped to his back, he moved like a cat, his feet only lightly touching the ground, with only the faintest clink of metal plates to reveal his presence. He was quick, light, and silent. Those were the traits of a rogue or assassin, not that of a warrior. This concerned her. Agility and speed with the strength to back it up? Fenris was dangerous, the _valaslin_ that glowed eerily when he was angry were troubling as well. Other than recognizing the Dalish markings, she had no idea what they could be.

The more she studied him the more she was fascinated by him. Where Hawke was all open smiles, charming, friendly, and easy to get along with, surrounding himself with laughter and light, Fenris shrouded himself in silence and secrets. No wonder they didn't get along.

"Why don't you go do something usefull?" she suggested, scowling at him. "Like hiding Merrill's knife collection."

"I could just kill her," Fenris spat. "It would be simplify matters a great deal."

Lyra's daggers were at his throat before he had even finished speaking. He had been readying himself for a fight but the speed of her attack had left him completed unprepared. "You will not touch her!" She spoke as one stating how it would be, and that there would be dire consequences if it were not so. "If she is to be dealt with, I will be the one to do it. No one else, understand?" The blades dug into his flesh as he nodded, but she did not remove them immediately. They stood there glaring at one another, and Fenris was sure she was going to slice his throat where he stood, until finally, she released him, replacing the daggers back into their sheaths. She couldn't look at him. She had lost control, and it had taken more effort than she would like to admit, to regain it.

Finally she spoke. "Look," she snarled, now more angry with herself than with him. "I seriously doubt any of these so called mercenaries would bother looking for me where I'm going, but if you think I still need protection, its not up to me to stop you." A mischievous glint began to melt the iciness of her glare. "Providing you can keep up."

He laughed in derision, as if the idea of her getting away from him was unthinkable, but his confidence was forced, and he was wondering just how close she had come to killing him where he stood.

They started out again towards the nearest city gates, a wall of silence between them. That was fine as far as Lyra was concerned, she had no burning desire to talk, especially not to some city-born elf who obviously didn't think very much of her at all. When they were outside the city walls, Fenris paused, looking at the forests and mountains that surrounded the city on three sides. "I am not here by choice," he said finally. "I'm doing this as a favor to Hawke, nothing more. I think you are a fool. And as far as I'm concerned you can go off and get yourself killed any way you choose."

"You're concern for my welfare is touching," she said dryly. He started to say something but she cut him off. "You obviously don't think very much of me, so I am curious as to why you agreed to this."

It took a long time for him to respond, as if he wasn't sure how to answer her. Finally he said, "Hawke has... assisted me... a great deal in the past. I have agreed to accompany you for that reason alone."

"So you're at his beck and call?" she sneered. "Like some sort of slave?"

"I am NOT a slave."

The vehemence of his words made her pause. The smirk vanishing as she studied him. "But you were, once."

"Yes," he said bitterly. "At one time I was a slave to a Magister of Tevinter. But I broke free of my chains a long time ago." She could see the anger and resentment building in him once more, his eyes darkened, mouth twisting into a snarl as he spoke.

"No you haven't," she said slowly, watching him closely. "You may have escaped your masters but you brought your chains with you. You are no longer bound to someone else's will, but you are not free." She turned away from him and started up the trail that lead to the Sundermount passage.

He stood there a moment, staring after her, completely dumbfounded. He wanted to chase after her and make her see that he WAS free no matter what she thought. After all, what did she know? They had barely just met. The first time she had been on the verge of killing him, and the second she had dismissed him with a wave of her hand, like he was nothing. NOTHING! And now she had the nerve to act like she could see right through him, into his very heart and mind, and then... and then she had looked at him. The sadness in her eyes, like she did know him. The anger, the hatred burning inside him, seemed to actually pain her. What manner of creature was she?

Lyra was already a good distance up the trail. He shook his head and began jogging to catch up with her. She had paused beneath a giant spruce by the side of the trail, and was staring up into its branches, making a great show of ignoring his approach, like she wasn't actually waiting for him. He caught up to her and stood a few feet away from her, watching her. He wondered if she had always looked like this, or if maybe it was just the sunlight filtering through the tree branches, casting moving patterns of light and shadow that played across her skin. Perhaps it was the way the breeze caught her wild red hair, lifting it gently off her neck, revealing the _valaslin_ that not only decorated her face but formed elaborate designs across her shoulders disappearing beneath the leather of her armor. There was still a mark on her cheek from where one of the bandits from the night before had struck her, but it was already fading. He felt an inexplicable rage and the man who had dared lay a hand on her and had to rein his emotions in quickly.

He suddenly realized he had let his mind wander, and his eyes as well. This was dangerous territory and he wasn't sure he wanted to travel that road. She was watching him now, arms folded as if waiting for him to say something. In fact there was much he wanted to say. He wanted to demand how she seemed to know his thoughts. He wanted to tell her that she was completely wrong about him and to tell her that in the future she should keep her thoughts to herself. But he didn't.

"I wanted to... apologise," he said at last, careful not to meet her gaze.

A look of surprise etched Lyra's face. She had been sure he was going to tell her, in no uncertain terms, to mind her own damn business.

"When we first met," he said hesitantly. "I accused you of being Hawke's servant."

"Yes, and then you accused me of being his mistress," she said, the beginnings of a smile touching her lips.

"Yes... well..." he stammered. "I did not mean it as an insult to you."

"No, you meant it as an insult to Hawke. I was simply an innocent bystander," she chuckled to herself. Innocent indeed. But he seemed to be floundering, unsure of himself. She took a step towards him, and said softly, "Do not make the mistake of thinking you are the only one who has ever hated, Fenris."

"And what would you know of hate?" he demanded, suddenly furious again.

Lyra simply looked at him, her expression unreadable. She knew hate. Her earliest memories were of a hatred for humans. She had been raised on tales of the murderous beasts that stole children from their beds, wives from from their husbands arms to be raped and murdered before their loved ones very eyes. These _shemlen_ were the monsters that kept every Dalish child on their best behaviour. As she grew older she had realized that not all humans were as evil as the tales portrayed, but by that time it didn't matter. Humans were the enemy. And in the name of hatred for the enemy she had slaughtered any _shem_ that ventured near her or her Clan. Oh, yes, she had hated.

Then the Keeper had sent her off to become a Grey Warden. Living and working alongside them had softened her hate and tamed her blood-lust, or perhaps she had simply realized that you couldn't go around killing every human you saw, there were just too many of them.

She could have told him all this, it's what he had asked, but that would be breaking the rules. _Keep yourself to yourself, _she thought. She studied him a long time without speaking. And yet, when she looked at him she wasn't really seeing Fenris. The markings, the shaggy hair, his angular features and wiry build... it was like looking at a ghost. The white of his hair and faintly blue tattoos only added to the ghostly appearance. Tamlen had preferred the sword over daggers as well. She mentally kicked herself and shook her head, refusing to continue the resemblance any further. She had been reminded of Tamlen so much lately, now she was even seeing him in other people.

She needed to run, feel the wind in her face, the fluidity of movement. Without a thought or warning, she darted off through the forest, her wild hair flowing behind her. She ran as the deer ran, bounding over fallen trees and rocks, ducking under low hanging branches, but never breaking stride. She glanced back once to see if Fenris was following her. He was, but the underbrush was slowing him down and she had already gained quite a distance on him. The forest soon thinned, long grass replacing the prickly underbrush. She could hear Fenris gaining on her she was impressed. Suddenly she leaped into the air beneath a giant oak. Her hand caught a branch and she swung herself up. She found a foothold in the knotted bark of the tree and scrambled up to the next branch.

Fenris was panting at the base of the tree looking up at her. "What are you doing?"

"Climbing a tree," she called down to him. She had already climbed almost as far as she dared. "You can see Kirkwall from up here."

Fenris shook his head, still trying to catch her breath. He was half convinced the girl was crazy, or simply wild, or both. Perhaps all the stories he had heard about the Dalish were true. They were primitive savages. Running headlong through a dark forest then climbing a fifty foot tree certainly didn't seem like something any civilized person would do.

"You can't tell me you've never climbed a tree." she called down.

"I've never seen the point."

"Perhaps that's because you've always been looking at it from the ground. Or maybe you're just scared." She was taunting him. Actually daring him to climb a damn great tree. And before he realized what he was doing, he had hoisted himself up onto a low branch, and was climbing up to where she sat in one of the topmost branches.

He found a branch close to hers and sat down, clinging to the trunk of the tree. "You can see all the way to Kirkwall from up here.," she said again. "The Wounded Coast too." She smiling brightly now, her cheeks flushed from the exertion. Fenris nodded, noncommittally, he was still trying to ignore just how high up they were. He was sure he had seen her smile before, but somehow it had never touched her eyes. Now she seemed to glow, and he had to keep himself from staring at her. She was watching him, the smile still there, but somehow faded, as if for just a moment she had gone somewhere else, was seeing someone else.

She seemed to realize he was watching her, and she tore her eyes away from the lanky elf quickly, as if worried he might be able to see her thoughts. He cocked his head curiously. The previous night she had been so confident in her abilities, and even he wasn't sure of the outcome, should it have come to a real fight. But now she seemed somehow unsure of herself. She would take on the whole world single handed, but something about him made her hesitate.

When he had decided to keep an eye on her, should Voorhees men try anything, he had done so against his better judgement. He wasn't a babysitter, nor was he anyone's bodyguard. The very idea of it rankled him. He told himself he didn't care one way or another for the troublesome elf. She was wild, savage, and didn't seem to take anything seriously. That was probably what irritated him the most. The way she dismissed potential danger with a wave of her hand, like the thought of a violent death was a mere inconvenience. It drove him mad. Did she really think so little of her life, that she would throw it away so easily? As someone who had spent every waking moment fighting for his own survival, he had a hard time understanding her.

And yet he couldn't stop thinking about what she had said the night before. About the life she should have had. She had lost someone, that was clear. And something told him she had known her fair share of pain and suffering. And then she went and climbed a tree.

"Look," she said suddenly, pointing towards the rocky coastline. "There's an ogre over there. Must be an cave entrance nearby. Could lead all the way to the Deep Roads. Come on," she said, making as if to slip off the branch. "Lets go kill the damn thing." And with that she checked her distance and dropped onto a lower branch, then another and another until she dropped lightly onto the ground far below. Fenris shook his head in amazement, but rather than try to mimic the feat, he chose his route much more cautiously.

Finally, his feet touched earth. He was panting and looking livid from the ordeal. Why had she made him climb the damn thing if she was just going to climb back down? But Lyra was already heading off through the trees in the direction from which she had seen the monster. "Tell me, do all Fereldens throw themselves in harms way?" he demanded angrily. "Or is it just you and Hawke?"

She stopped suddenly and looked back at him, obviously puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"'Let's go kill an ogre'? Just because its bloody well there?" He stood his ground, refusing to follow. She was mad, she had to be.

"Oh," she said, realization dawning. She supposed it probably was odd behaviour, but she was a Grey Warden. That's what she did. "Force of habit," she said sheepishly. "See a darkspawn, kill a darkspawn." It was an excuse and she knew it. At the moment she was trying to find any excuse to postpone the inevitable. She made her way back to where he stood, looking back through the trees almost longingly. "Honestly, though, I don't think I know many people who don't go charging after danger," she said, in an attempt to lighten the mood. "I guess I don't meet many 'normal' people."

They headed off in the opposite direction, away from the coast and towards the mountain, now obscured by the trees. They walked in silence for a while, Fenris watching the other elf closely. She had slowed her pace and seemed to be on edge. He thought he knew where they were going and guessed that her nervousness had less to do with the ogre than their current destination. She was trying to delay the reunion as long as possible. And so, he was not surprised when yet again she pulled off the path, supposedly to examine a marking on a nearby tree.

"I am curious," he said cautiously. "We're headed towards the Dalish camp, yes?" He took her silence as confirmation. "Then why are you not more eager to see your people?"

Lyra frowned bitterly at the words and he fully expected a lashing retort. But when she spoke her voice was quiet and controlled, but Fenris could hear the animosity behind the words. "They are NOT my people. They haven't been for a long time."

"Then why-"

"Why do you care?" she snapped. Then, seeing his stunned silence, she sighed, taking a moment to calm herself. He could take her from calm to raging in an instant. "Do you know how I became a Grey Warden?" Her tone was almost casual, if not for the ice barely disguised beneath the surface.

"Only what you said last night about the mirror. I've never heard the whole story."

She nodded sagely. "Not surprising. There are very few who know it, and even fewer who would speak of it." She paused, as if collecting her thoughts. She couldn't explain why she was telling him this. She was breaking her own rules, but she couldn't seem to stop herself. "I was hunting with a friend... We came upon some ancient ruins we'd never seen before and decided to investigate. Stupid thing to do, but we were young and full of ourselves." She laughed harshly. "We hadn't gone far when we were attacked, giant spiders, walking corpses, and... other things. Found out later they were darkspawn. We managed to kill them but the place still felt... wrong. Dark magic. We should have turned back, but we were curious, so we continued on, till we found that thrice damned mirror."

Fenris stared at her. "A mirror?" he said incredulously, and Lyra knew exactly what he was thinking.

"Yes. A mirror," she spat. "Tamlen touched it and..." Her voice trailed off. "I woke up back in camp. The Keeper told me a Grey Warden had saved me. Told me I was sick, tainted. And the only cure was to leave my home, everything and everyone I knew and go with the human to become a Grey Warden. It was either that or wait till the darkspawn taint killed me."

"So you became a Warden," Fenris said.

Lyra laugh was more like a snarl. "It wasn't my first choice. I told the Keeper I didn't care. Finding Tamlen was more important. I chose to die searching for him, if it came to that. But it didn't matter what I wanted. Duncan, the Grey Warden, invoked the Right of Conscription. Even then I wouldn't go. The Keeper had to banish me. I swore I wouldn't go back, not until..." her voice trailed off again, the defiance leaving her, replaced by a hint of sorrow, as if there was something more to be said, but she couldn't bring herself to say it.

Fenris said nothing, simply staring at her as she started back up the trail. What had she meant? Was that why she was so eager to throw herself into danger? The Keeper had saved her life by sending her with the Grey Warden. And because of that she had stopped the Blight, the Hero of Ferelden they called her. He couldn't understand why someone who had done so much would chose to die.

As if reading his thoughts, she said quietly, "Better to die free, than live by someone else's will." She turned to look at him again. "I thought you, of all people would understand that." The tension of the moment had passed, the anger and resentment fading.

He was resisting the urge to tell her exactly what he thought of her. He had never hesitated before but now... There was something else there. Something that made him pause. "It's not the same," Fenris said finally,. "I was born a slave. I had to fight for my freedom, for survival." When Lyra didn't respond, he continued. "You're Keeper saved your life. And you have spent all the time given to you hating her for it. Hating the Grey Wardens too, I suppose."

She gave him a knowing look. "And how long was it before you stopped hating the Magisters?" Fenris had nothing to say to that. He carried his hatred with him, just as she did. Lyra sighed heavily. "It may not make much sense to you, but my life was with the Dalish. With... Tamlen. That was the life that should have been saved, even if it meant succumbing to the taint. I never wanted this life, this cursed half-life. But they didn't give me the choice. I swore if ever I returned it would be with Tamlen or not at all." Everything she had buried for so long was coming to the surface. During the Blight she could forget about all of this. She had focused all her energy on the darkspawn and then the Archdemon. She had thought she had accepted that Tamlen was gone years ago but being here, so close to everything she had been avoiding... "You remind me of him you know," she said softly.

Fenris had a hard time imagining what that might be. He had almost nothing in common with the Dalish, had never even met one before coming to Kirkwall, as far as he knew. But there was that look again. Like she wasn't actually seeing him. Then, before he could say another word, the spell that seemed to have held her broke, and she tore her gaze away from him. "Come on," she said. "The scouts will have seen us. By now, the whole clan will know we're coming." She turned and headed purposefully up the trail.

Fenris fell into step beside her. "Did you ever find him?"

"Yes," she said decisively. "I did."


	6. Chapter 6

Welcome to Kirkwall

Chapter 6: Questions Unanswered and Questions Unasked

They walked in silence for a time, Lyra, offered nothing more, and Fenris guessed by the look on her face that it would be decidedly unwise to press the matter. The path was getting steeper as they approached the mountain, the the tall oaks replaced by smaller trees, the springy turf, by rock and hard-packed earth. Suddenly, when Fenris could stand the silence no longer, Lyra stopped, her head cocked as if listening for something.

"Lyra," he began, but she shushed him into silence. Affronted, he tried to begin again, but her glare silenced him once more.

"Who's there?" she called out. "I am Lyra Mahariel, and I have business with the Keeper." There was no response for a time except for a slight rustling in the bushes ahead and to the left that could have been the wind, but Lyra knew better.

"Mahariel has been gone a long time." The voice seemed to come from all around them. "Before I let you pass, you must prove yourself."

_I know that voice_, Lyra thought. Of course, she would know almost everyone in the camp, even after five years. Some not as well as others perhaps, but this one she knew well.

"If you are who you say you are," the voice continued, "you will answer my questions." There was a dramatic pause and then, "What was our favourite game as children?"

Yep, it was definitely him. He was older, his voice deeper, more sure of itself, but still him. "Hunt the S_hemlen_," she said confidently.

"And who was always the _shem_?" the disembodied voice demanded.

"You were." Another rustling noise, closer this time.

"Very good. And now something more challenging," the voice spoke as if pronouncing sentence. "What is my favourite color?"

"Oh, come off it, Fen-"

"Answer!" The voice cut her off, suddenly angry and demanding.

"Purple."

"Purple?!" he scoffed.

Lyra sighed heavily, as if asked to do a very menial task, for a very demanding master. "The color of the nights sky in the last seconds before the light has faded." It was more a recital than an answer, but it appeared to be the correct one.

A young elf, about Lyra's age stepped out of the brush to their left, an arrow knocked in his ornately carved bow, and though he was not aiming it at the pair, he still seemed cautious. He looked older that Lyra remembered, but then, she supposed she did too. His hair was straw colored, longer than it had been and the braid was gone but the _valaslin_ had not changed. He seemed harder now, his expression a little colder than she had expected. As children they had been wild and carefree, but then she remembered he was First Hunter now. It was up to him and his hunters to keep the clan well fed and protected. The responsibility seemed to be weighing on him.

"_Aneth ara_. Good to see you, Fenarel," she said smiling. "Still playing your old games? 'You shall not pass!" she said in a mock commanding voice.

His wary demeanour broke and he gave her a wide grin, lowering the bow and slotting the arrow back into the quiver with the others. "Can't be too careful these days," he said as he strode over to them and put an arm around her shoulder. "Good to see you, _lethallan_." He glanced at Fenris and nodded briefly. Acknowledging his presence, but nothing more. He stood back from her a bit, holding her by the shoulders, looking her over, studying her face and eyes, as if he could read the last five years worth of history written there. "One last question, before I let you pass, however," his expression was serious again. "What were the last words you spoke to me?"

Lyra's expression was equally serious as she answered. "'I'll come back,'" she quoted, solemnly. "'I'll find him and bring him home.'"

Fenarel nodded, but his expression did not change. "And did you keep you're promise?"

Lyra took a minute to answer, studying her childhood friend, hoping for some sign that he would accept her answer, that he would not hate her for it. "No," she said finally.

The hunter nodded again, his face unreadable. "Come on," he said finally, "The Keeper is waiting for you." With that he turned and lead them up the path.

Fenris followed along, lagging slightly. The exchange had been between this young Dalish and Lyra, and he doubted that the encounter would have been any different if he had not been there at all. He felt like an intruder. Like something had happened or had been said that he should not have witnessed. That the two were childhood friends was obvious from the first question this Fenarel had posed, but there was something else there too, something that neither wanted to discuss. The shared loss of the third friend, Tamlen, perhaps. Or was it more than that?

But before he could think on it further, they were in the Dalish camp. He hadn't been back here since the first time Hawke traveled here to return some sort of trinket, when they had first met Merrill, who proved herself to be a blood mage. Hawke had learned then of Fenris' distaste for the Dalish and for Merrill, and if ever he had had to return, Hawke had done so without him. Which suited Fenris just fine. The Dalish houses, if such they could be called, had not moved since his first visit some years ago and it was apparent the clan had no intention of moving on. He supposed it wouldn't matter much to him if they did. He did not concern himself with the Dalish and they, apparently, did not concern themselves with him. Better that way.

Lyra was approaching the Keeper, and though all eyes were upon her, and a few of the people called out to her, she chose to ignore them. Fenris knew this was probably not a conversation he should be listening in on but, like the others, he was curious. Several of the other elves suddenly found tasks that kept them very busy, but also within earshot of the pair. Fenris sat next to the central fire not far away, in a pretense of warming his hands, and studiously tried to ignore the conversation. Or rather, he studiously tried to _look_ like he was ignoring the conversation.

Keeper Marethari had embraced Lyra before even speaking a single word. Lyra returned it half-heartedly. She wasn't here for reunions. She was here for answers. "You have returned to us at last. _Andaran atish'an_, _da'len_," Keeper Marethari said, finally breaking the embrace to stand back and study Lyra, just as Fenarel had. And was that... were there tears in her eyes?

"_Andaran atish'an_, Keeper," Lyra replied, giving a slight bow. She was suddenly unsure of herself. Had Marethari actually missed her? She knew she had been a troublesome young elf among the clan, and had assumed that was part of the reason she had been sent away. So the Keeper could be rid of the nuisance. Had she been wrong all these years? And the _elvhen_ words, coming so easily to her tongue. She hadn't spoken a word of elvish in years but it seemed so natural, slipping back into old habits.

"You have come home, then, _da'len_?" Marethari said. Her voice carried a note of hopefulness with it. Or was it sadness?

_I could stay here_, Lyra thought. _Be _elvhen_ again. With my people_. But as soon as the thought crossed her mind, she mentally shook herself. This was not her home. She didn't belong here. That life was over, and it was foolish to think she could ever have it back. "No," she said firmly. "I can not stay." the Keeper was watching her closely now. Her silent expression demanding an explanation. Lyra mustered her resolve. "Too much has changed," she said quickly, "I don't belong here, anymore. I only came back for... I need to know what happened after I left."

Keeper Marethari studied her a long while before answering, like she was deciding on whether to let it go at that, or whether to force the issue. At last she gave a long weary sigh and said "We moved camp shortly after you left with the Grey Warden. The _shemlen_ in the village were angry with us so..."

"You let those _shems_ drive the clan out?" Lyra demanded, her temper getting the best of her as the old hatred resurfaced.

Marethari's expression hardened. "If you will remember, it was you who killed three of their people. They had good reason to be angry."

"And how many of us would those bandits have killed, if I hadn't killed them first? I was protecting the clan."

"They were NOT bandits, _da'len_. Not every human is as evil as you believe. Surely you know that by now." The two women glared at each other. Lyra, angry and defiant, Marethari, resolute. Lyra had always been headstrong, but more often than not, the Keeper had stared her down, doling out words of reason and judgement upon the young elf. But this time it was Marethari who's eyes softened and she sighed. "You may think you have changed," she said, sorrow etching every word, "but you still wield your hatred like a sword, lashing out at any who would try to help you."

Lyra was taken aback, but she had lost none of her defiance when she spoke. "I did not come here to listen to you're lectures, Keeper."

"No," the older woman sighed again, but there was a harshness to her tone. "I don't suppose you would." It was a moment before the Keeper continued, "We followed the secret paths across the Waking Sea and came to this place before the blight could overtake us. We-"

"What of Merrill, and the mirror?" Lyra interrupted, determined to keep the upper hand.

"When Merrill took the _eluvian_, I knew nothing of it. We had already settled here before she told me what she had done."

"You didn't try to stop her?" Lyra asked incredulously. She had thought the Keeper knew better, knew how dangerous and evil the thing was.

"It was her choice," the Keeper said simply, as if there was nothing more to be said on the matter. As if turning to blood magic to restore the vilest object in Thedas was simply a matter of course.

Lyra growled in frustration. Did the Keeper not realize what Merrill had done? How... WRONG... that mirror was? "What did you learn from it? The mirror, I mean," she said finally, her anger sitting at a slow boil.

"Nothing," Marethari said. "Any knowledge Merrill might have gained, she never shared it with me."

"And I suppose you didn't bother to ask," Lyra snorted, derisively. "So you know nothing of its purpose? How it was tainted? The connection to the darkspawn?"

"Only what Duncan told us both the day you left."

"The day you sent me away, you mean," Lyra muttered angrily. "So you don't know anything about the _eluvian_ nor did you do anything to stop Merrill from trying to restore it. What of the next person to stumble upon it? Were you just going to leave them to their fate, as you did Tamlen?

Lyra knew Marethari had been insensed by the accusation, but she refused to show it. Instead, she seemed like she wanted to calm the younger elf, to comfort her. "Tamlen was gone.," she said softly. "You could not have found him, _da'len_-"

"Do not call me that!" Lyra raged, conscious of the eyes and ears around them, but she no longer cared who heard her. "I am not your child. You were wrong about me and you were wrong about Tamlen, too. You see, I did find him," she hissed maliciously. A sharp intake of breath followed her words, but she plunged on. "But I was too late. If I'd found him sooner I could have saved him. But instead you decided to send me off to find some cure as a Grey Warden. Who were you to decide that I was more important?" The rage inside her was unstoppable now. She couldn't have stopped her next words even if she had cared to. Not even to spare her old Keeper the pain she knew they would bring. "Tamlen's dead, Keeper. I drove a dagger into his heart." She waited for the anguish she knew the words would bring. "It was a mercy," she said, swallowing hard. She hated herself for saying it. Those were the exact words Alistair had said to her as Tamlen lay dying in her arms, and she had cursed him for it, just as she cursed herself now. Her anger over-rode the pain. Anger at herself, Alistair, the Keeper, the world in general.

"A pity you could not have shown me the same kindness," she snarled and turned away from the Keeper, her last scathing comment echoing in the sudden silence. She strode past the shell-shocked crowd and back down the path from which she had come, a battle of emotions raging inside her. She wanted to run, to scream, or cry. Anything! But icy resolve was flooding her veins and she forced herself to walk calmly and purposefully away from the people whom she had once called family.

This time, no one called out to her. No doubt they were all in shock at her words, but she was beyond caring what the Clan thought of her. She didn't need them any more than they needed her. That had been proven years ago.

Fenris caught up to her just outside the camp. She could tell he was unsure of what, if anything, he could say, but against all reason, he tried anyway. "Do you want to ta-"

"No," she said definitively. "I don't." She walked on, refusing to look at him.

"Lyra." Someone was calling to her. She could hear running footsteps on the trail behind her, and she felt herself tensing for a fight. But in turning around, she saw Fenarel chasing after her. "You're leaving?" He sounded surprised, like he had not heard every word that she had just said even though she knew he had. When she didn't reply, he continued. "When are you coming back? You are coming back, aren't you?"

Lyra was shocked. She hadn't expected anyone to want her back after what had just happened. "No," she said at last. "I don't think the Keeper would like that idea very much."

"And when did you start caring what the Keeper thought?" He was smiling. It was a hesitant smile, as if trying to keep his tone light. Again, she did not answer. "Listen, I... uh... Wanted to give you something." He reached into a pocket and held out a hand-carved flute. "I made it for you a long time ago," he said, almost apologetically. "I wanted to give it to you before but, well..."

Lyra nodded in stunned silence. She had had a flute like this when they were kids. She loved to play for him and Tamlen. But it had smashed on one of their misguided adventures. He made this for her? When? She gingerly reached out a hand and took the instrument carefully, as if it might break at any second. "_Ma serannas_," she said in a voice barely above a whisper.

"Listen," Fenarel said as she looked at the flute in wonder. "I know you're angry with the Keeper about sending you away," he said as if unsure if he should be telling her this. "But I'm glad she did."

Her eyes snapped into focus, narrowing on Fenarel. "You what?"

He faltered, then started again, not looking at her, but pointing at the flute. "I carried this, all the way from Ferelden, because I knew that as long as you were alive, there was a chance I would see you again." Their eyes met, and she found herself once again, at a loss for words. "I should have given it to you long ago, but..." He sighed, and seemed at a loss himself. "Anyway, I wanted you to have it. I'm glad I got to see you again, _lethallan_. _Dareth shiral._" He held her gaze for a moment, then turned, and started back up the trail leading to camp.

Lyra stared after him a long while before wrapping the flute very carefully in a cloth and placing it gently into the small pack she carried. Then they started off again, back down the mountain. She could feel Fenris watching her, a slight smirk on his face. "What?" she said finally, without looking at him.

"It seems to me," he said at last, "that everyone values your life a great deal... Except for you."

"Fenris," she said, giving an exasperated sigh. "Shut up."

It took a lot less time to come down the mountain than it had to climb it, due in part to the easier trail, but Fenris guessed it had more to do with Lyra's attitude. Rather than the nervous hesitancy she had showed on the journey up to the camp, now she was possessed of a determination fuelled, no doubt by the anger that he now knew was constantly there, just below the surface. She could laugh and joke around with Hawke or whoever all she wanted, but Fenris had seen the truth of it, and he knew it was an act. The calm veneer of self-possessed confidence could crumble at any second and she would unleash hell on any who got in the way. He still thought she was a fool, perhaps even more now that he had seen her with her people. He saw a people who had done everything they could to give her home and family, to keep her safe and alive. And all she could do was throw it back in their faces. Rather than be grateful for the life she had been given, she resented it. But at the same time, he thought he was beginning to understand her a little better. '_What would you know of hate?'_ He had asked her that all but a few hours ago, though it seemed a lot longer. She hadn't answered then, but with everything that had been said, everything he had overheard... She probably knew just as much about hate as he did. '_And how long was it till you stopped hating the Magisters?'_ Perhaps a hate that deep couldn't be forgotten.

Somewhere along the way the trees had thinned out almost completely, to be replaced by low shrubs struggling for life in the rock and sand. He could hear the sounds of the sea not far off and he suddenly realized that the trail they were on lead to the Wounded Coast, not Kirkwall. He was hesitant to say anything, the look on Lyra's face could freeze stone, but where did she think she was going? Finally he spoke "Kirkwall's to the east," he said cautiously. When she didn't reply, he continued. "This trail will take us to the Wounded Coast." She nodded curtly but said nothing. "What in the name of Andraste herself are we going there for?" he demanded, thoroughly exasperated at her silence.

She spun on him and he could see that the icy rage was even closer to the surface than he imagined. "I'm going to go kill a damn great ogre, because its bloody well there," she seethed, her voice menacing, daring him to defy her. He was almost amused by the way she had to look up at him to challenge him like this. She was so much smaller than he, yet she took no bullshit from anyone. And some part of him admired her for that. A very small part. The rest of him thought it was foolish bravado and it was going to get her killed.

"I didn't ask you got come along, Fenris," she was saying. "If the thought of facing an ogre frightens you," she paused, a taunting sneer on her lips, "then by all means, leave. As you said, Kirkwall's that way." She held out an arm, pointing towards the east.

He scowled at her. He wasn't frightened. He and Hawke had faced ogres before, though they had generally had other companions with them at the time, one of which was usually a mage healer. As much as he hated mages, especially the ones Hawke tended to associate with, he felt slightly exposed by not having one with them now. The thought unnerved him, but he refused to dwell on it. It was perfectly clear that Lyra was intent on killing something, and if it wasn't the ogre, she might well make him her target. "Simply intent on getting yourself killed, aren't you?" he snarled.

Lyra stalked off without waiting for him. He could do as he damn well liked. She was in no mood for his condemnations. He acted so put upon, following her around, but it wasn't like she had asked for his companionship. In fact, she had done everything she could think of to discourage it. But there he was, trailing after her again. She sighed inwardly. Fenris didn't understand her, and he never would. He didn't know what it meant to be a Grey Warden. Hero of Ferelden, what a joke.

She stepped into something that squelched, and looked down in disgust. "Do you people not bury your dead?" she demanded. "That's the fifth corpse I've almost stepped in." She stepped gingerly over the body. "I think I have spleen on my boot," she mumbled, and Fenris smirked in spite of himself.

"They're raiders mostly," he said. "Foiled ambushes, robberies gone bad. No one knows who they were, so no one bothers to bury them when they die. Hawke and I left more than a few corpses to rot out here." She noted the tone of camaraderie as he spoke about Hawke. They weren't friends, that was obvious, but Hawke had earned his trust. No matter how much they hated one another, Fenris respected him. She wondered vaguely how Hawke had managed it. Fenris was kneeling down by the body and had begun digging through the man's tattered clothing.

"What are you doing?" she asked, unable to hide the disgust in her voice.

He looked up at her, as if startled. "Sorry," he said, getting back to his feet. He was tall, she thought. And handsome, in that dark and tortured way of his. Those eyes have seen a lot. He seemed so comfortable around death. _How many people has he killed?_ she wondered. She had a feeling his numbers would rival her own. "Good source of income though," Fenris said, shrugging one shoulder lazily, and bringing her back from her thoughts. "It's how Hawke and I survived our first few years here."

"What? Stealing from the dead?" She was having a hard time believing that the Champion of Kirkwall had started out by looting corpses.

Fenris shrugged again. "Easier than stealing from the living."

"Stealing from the..." She was watching him carefully, and suddenly she realized there was something different about his eyes and he had a mischievous grin on his face. "You're joking," she said incredulously. "You're actually making a joke." She couldn't help but smile as he chuckled softly to himself. She found that she liked the sound. "You'd better stop that," she said, still grinning. "Keep it up and I'll have to change my opinion of you."

He took a step towards her. "Would that be so bad?" But she had already turned away from him, and hadn't heard.

There was movement down a side trail off to their left and all thought had turned to the ogre. It couldn't be far now, it was right around here that she had seen it from the tree. She wanted it dead. Not just because she wanted to kill something, it was simply ingrained into her as a Grey Warden. You did the things that needed to be done so that no one else had to die in the trying. Thing was, she wasn't sensing the ogre. Those were people down there, trying very hard not to be noticed. She could hear voices, not calling out to one another but talking in hushed whispers.

She glanced at Fenris. He had sensed something too but had not yet figured out what it was. She motioned for him to stay on the main trail while she went to see what was going on, but he shook his head vigorously. She had known he wouldn't be held back, she simply hoped he would be smart enough to stay put while she assessed the situation. No such luck, it seemed. They crept forward, using the large boulders edging the path for cover.

She peeked through the tall grass at the edge of an outcropping of stone, and took in the scene in an instant. If this was supposed to be an ambush, it was a very poor one. Or perhaps they had simply stumbled upon it too soon. There were at least thirty well armed men who seemed to be taking orders from a tall fellow in robes who was hanging back, as if reluctant to be seen at all. He was wearing something around his neck, what was it...

She pulled back hurriedly, sensing that Fenris was about to follow her gaze, and pulled him back down behind the boulders. "Ambush," she whispered, doing her best to make sure her voice did not carry. "Thirty in the open. Probably more already in hiding. Thought I saw a couple of Voorhees' men that I tangled with last night." She was thinking hard and fast, trying to make sense of what she had seen and trying to figure out how to handle it. She sighed, there was nothing for it. "You stay here in case they get around us," she said finally. " I'll go for the main force."

"Are you mad? You're going to attack them? Thirty to one odds sound good to you?"

"You have a better idea?" she hissed furiously.

"We could just leave, you know. They aren't in position yet. We could slip by them and they would never even know you were here."

She huffed in exasperation. "They'll just come after me again. Better to have it done." She made as if to rise and Fenris grabbed her arm, giving her a look that was almost pleading. She knew he wasn't scared for himself any more than she would be, but he was scared for her. It was a strange feeling. She had been at odds with everyone, even him, for so long, that in that moment she hesitated. Finally she grinned at him, wild and impetuous as ever. "Where's the fun in running away?" She pulled away from him and got to her feet, walking calmly into the open.

"Looking for someone?" she said brightly to the group in general. Everyone in the clearing jumped in surprise, all but the mage, who had mysteriously disappeared. A few of the quicker ones were unsheathing swords and readying crossbows, and she found herself regretting the lack of her former companions from Ferelden. If Zevran, Morrigan and Ogren had been with her, the majority of them would have been dead before the rest even realized what was happening. How many times had they face down a mob like this and been victorious? As it was, all she had for back-up was Fenris, and hope to the gods he wouldn't do anything stupid. But now was not the time for regrets. Even though the mercenaries had not been prepared, a few were already moving towards her and she heard someone call out. "That's the little bitch from last night. Keep an eye out for that damn dog."

She grinned maliciously and called back, "Don't worry. I can kill you all by myself." And with that she charged. She felt something tug at her shoulder but she ignored it, leaping at the nearest attacker, slipping her blade beneath his shoulder guard, disabling his sword arm, before bringing her second dagger across the mans throat. She whirled in time to block a downward swing from a second attacker but her right arm seemed sluggish and the man recovered quickly, using his shield to knock her back, further into the thick of mercenaries.

After that it was impossible to tell what was going on. She fought by instinct, sensing the blows coming more than seeing them, slashing and stabbing with a speed that defied possibility. She heard Fenris somewhere off to her left, roaring defiance, and heard the clang and screech of the heavy greatsword as it connected with metal, then tore through it. _He could say what he liked_,she thought. _He was enjoying this_. She was working her way toward the back of the group, trying to find the man in the robes. She knew he was a mage and would be staying back from the fighting, avoiding close combat, but she hadn't seen any flares of magic, as of yet, and she wondered what he was waiting for.

The crowd seemed to clear, and she saw a couple of mercenaries quitting the battle entirely and trying to make a run for it. She sneered at their cowardice and felt a momentary elation. The feeling was short lived however as she realized that thirty men would never run from two attackers, no matter how skilled they were. She sensed the beast behind her even before she heard the throaty roar. It was a sound she had heard many times before as the word _Ogre! _flashed across her mind. She turned just as the beast caught her with one of its horns and threw her into the air. She landed heavily, knocking the air from her lungs. She rolled quickly to the side, narrowly avoiding the beasts maddened charge, and tried to get to her feet. Her side was gored deeply but had not yet begun to hurt and she guessed the adrenaline would keep the pain at bay for a little while. A small mercy but she could feel the numbness spreading up and down her left side. She needed to take advantage of it while she could. Fenris was slashing at the beasts legs. The ogre towered over him, almost three times as tall, its yellowed teeth bared as it roared, spraying him with spittle. It swung its massive arms down at the elf in an attempt to grab him and crush him to death in its gargantuan fists. Fenris's cat-like reflexes saved him as he sprang to the side, avoiding the beasts razor sharp claws. She wondered how he could move so easily while still gripping the two-handed sword without taking off his own head.

But now was not the time for such musings. One of the beasts fists landed a glancing blow as Fenris zigged where he should have zagged and he was thrown to the ground. The ogre was preparing another charge and Lyra took advantage of the momentary distraction. She sprang onto the creatures back before it had gathered its strength, plunging her daggers deep into its back as she climbed for its head. The beast reared back, roaring in rage and pain, and she almost lost her grip as it spun around, trying to find the source of its pain. She regained her purchase and continued to climb the mountainous beast. Finally, she plunged one dagger down deep into the creatures shoulder, swung herself up as it roared again and dug the blade of the other dagger into the beasts throat. She let go of the dagger buried in its shoulder and grabbed the other end of the blade, pulling back hard, forcing the blade through its neck, nearly beheading the creature. Then the ogre was falling backwards and she had to leap to the ground before she was crushed beneath its weight. The ground shuddered as it fell and finally lay still, Lyra's daggers buried in its flesh.

Lyra was panting heavily, blood pouring from the wound in her side, and for the first time she noticed the bolt in her shoulder. _Crossbow must have got lucky_, she thought lazily. _I thought that had been him_. The battle haze was fading and the pain was starting to set in. Fenris had picked himself up and was rushing towards her. The mercenaries seemed to have scattered and none seemed eager to return. "Small mercies," she muttered. She was suddenly feeling very weak and seemed to be having trouble keeping upright. She sat down heavily beside the body of the ogre. _Gods, that thing stinks_, she thought absently.

"Lyra! Are you all right?" Fenris had reached her and was kneeling down beside her. He reached for the wound in her side, supposedly to try to staunch the bleeding but she pulled back from him violently.

"Don't touch that," she snapped, fully aware once more.

He was slightly taken aback, but continued reaching for her. "Lyra, it's all right. I've got to stop the bleeding."

"Get away," she snarled again. "It's a tainted wound, you idiot. Just give me some bandages." Fenris scowled at her but did as he was asked and she pressed the cloth to her side hard, groaning loudly as she did so. "No one knows how much it takes for the corruption to spread," she said through gritted teeth. "Some people need to actually be bitten by a darkspawn. For others, a single drop of blood can do them in." She glared at him, silently asking how much he was willing to risk on the bet that he would be one of the former. Then she grimaced again as she renewed pressure on the wound and wrapped a strip of cloth around her to hold the already blood-soaked bandage in place.

"But then, you're-"

"Haven't you been listening?" she growled at him. "I was tainted years ago. The corruption is already inside me." She saw the look of confusion on his face and thought she understood. "The Grey Wardens... It's not a cure. Not really," she sighed. " Becoming a Grey Warden doesn't remove the taint from your blood. It just lets you live with it a while longer. Eventually, everyone gives in to the taint."

Fenris had gotten to his feet and was standing over her, scowling. She didn't need to be a mind reader to know what he was thinking, he had stated it often enough. He thought she had attacked the mob in the hopes of being killed. At thirty to one odds, she couldn't exactly blame him. She breathed a sigh that sounded more like a growl and said, "Is it so hard to understand that I would rather die in a manner of my own choosing, than be taken by the taint?"

Fenris said nothing to this, he simply held out his hand to her. "Can you stand? There's a healer in Darktown who knows about those kinds of wounds," he said, nodding toward the bandages. "I suppose you're too stubborn to let me deal with your shoulder in the meantime."

She grinned at him almost sleepily and put her hand in his. "Why, Fenris. Are you trying to save my life?"

"I wouldn't dream of it," he growled. "It's a long way to Kirkwall." He pulled her to her feet and wrapped her uninjured arm around his shoulders, allowing her to lean on him for support. "Maybe you'll get lucky and bleed out on the way."

"One can always hope," she said grinning, and wondering idly if she was about to become yet another corpse littering the Wounded Coast.


	7. Chapter 7

**Authors Note: **_I would like to point out for the record that this story will not be strictly cannon. I`ve tried to maintain as many details as possible, but for the sake of storytelling and plot progression, changes have been made. Reviews always welcome. Happy reading._

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><p>Welcome to Kirkwall<p>

Chapter 7: A Warden by Any Other Name

Darktown was relatively easy to get to from the coast, due in no small part to the smugglers and gangs that the area was well known for. Over the years Fenris and Hawke had had cause to take down many of these rebel bands and therefore he knew a lot of the secret passages in and out of the city. So far, they had managed to remain unnoticed. Even after entering the undercity, the residents there took little interest in them, as if seeing two elves, both bloody and one sporting a heavy bandage across her ribs, was nothing out of the ordinary. Either that or the general despair of the place had so jaded its population that no one took notice of anything anymore.

Lyra had been leaning heavily on Fenris, who supported her slight weight easily, but now that they had entered a populated area she seemed to pull away from him, as if determined not to show weakness in front of others. He couldn't help but admire her strength. Though she was surely close to collapsing from exhaustion an blood loss, she managed to hold herself upright as they made their way through the poverty stricken passageways, but he was concerned none the less.

"Come here often?" Lyra asked, breathing heavily with the effort of staying on her feet, but still trying to sound cheerfull. She was unnaturally pale, and he could see beads of sweat forming on her brow, but still she refused to accept his offer of support. At this point he would have gladly picked her up and carried her all the way to the healers doorstep. But he knew she would never forgive him if he did so.

"More than I'd like," he muttered angrily. She stumbled suddenly, and almost went down, but Fenris caught her in time. She tried to pull away from him again, but he would not release her. The effort of struggling against him was costing her. "Stupid girl," he snarled. "Going to die for the sake of your pride?" If Lyra heard the comment, she ignored it, and Fenris swore under his breath."I'm not going to let you die down here so stop fighting," he hissed in her ear. "I will carry you if I have to, I swear it." The threat seemed to have the desired effect, and she allowed him to wrap and arm around her. It wasn't much, but it would keep her from falling if she stumbled again.

They had almost reached what appeared to be the limits of Darktown when they heard the sound of a heavy table crashing to the floor and both heads turned towards the sound. It seemed to come from behind a pair of doors on the far wall, and in the moments distraction, Lyra pulled away from him once more.

Someone was shouting from within. "Do not touch me, mortals!" Lyra thought she recognized the voice, though it sounded somehow changed. But it couldn't be, could it?

She made for the doors but Fenris go there first and burst through them, roaring with rage, the tattoos on his skin, glowing a bright blue. Lyra followed him in and took in the scene at a glance. The room was larger than she would have expected, judging from what she had seen of the rest of Darktown. A low brick ceiling was supported by beams and pillars. Makeshift beds lined the walls except for the shelving occupying the far wall. And in the centre of the room, beside a long operating table, she could see two heavily armed men, obviously Templars, grabbing a tall blonde man by each arm. She stepped out from behind Fenris and recognized the struggling man instantly, though he had changed much in the few years since she had last seen him.

Fenris surged forward but she stopped him with an arm across his chest. He glared at her, but she was already moving forward. Waves of dizziness flowed over her but rage forced her onwards. "Unhand him!" she bellowed with a strength she didn't know she still possessed.

The Templars, surprised not only with her appearance but also the commanding tone of her voice, hesitated only a moment before quickly recovering themselves. The taller of the two spoke first, keeping a firm grasp on the mans robes but reaching for his sword with his other hand. "This man is an apostate mage, operating an illegal clinic. We are taking him to the gallows for trial and punishment, by order of Knight Commander Meredith, herself."

She drew one of the daggers she had hastily retrieved from the ogres corpse and brandished it at the two men. Fresh blood still glistened on the blade. Her injured shoulder had stiffened considerably and she dowubted if she could have even drawn the second blade, let alone wielded it effectively, and now was not the time to show weakness. "Wrong," she said defiantly. "He is a Grey Warden, here on business for the order. And I'm telling you to release him."

"By who's authority?" the second man sneered.

"Lyra Mahariel," she sneered back at him, curling her lip in a merciless grin. "Commander of the Grey and Hero of Ferelden... In other words," her voice turned menacing. "Me!"

"This is a templar matter," the first of the men said, but he now seemed unsure of himself, his eyes darting nervously from Lyra, to the mage, and back again. His prisoner had stopped struggling at the sight of the two elves, and seemed to be just as unsure of what was going on as the Templars themselves.

"Wrong again!" she cried. "This is a Grey Warden matter, which takes precedence over any local law enforcement or Templar sanction. This man is under my command, and therefore immune to even the Knight Commanders influence. Now release him before I take matters into my own hands, and neither of you walk out of here alive." She could feel the last of her strength leaving her, and knew she would be unable to defeat them if they called her bluff. But she had always been very good at intimidating people, despite her small stature. _Talk like you mean it, and most people will think you do_, she thought. At this point it was more of a hope.

The two men looked at one another, apprehension etched on their faces. Then, ever so reluctantly, they released their hold on the man. "The Knight Commander will hear of this," the glowered at her as they passed and she raised the blade a little higher, and encouragement for them to be on their way.

"See that she does," she snarled as the two men disappeared through the pair of doors behind them. It took her a few tries to fit the dagger back into its sheath. Blackness was creeping in on her and she was having trouble focusing on anything in the room. She fought against it, but the encounter had taken a lot more out of her than she would ever admit. "That's the third time I've saved you from the Templars, Anders,"she said wearily. "It seems we're starting to make a habit of this."

The man called Anders was backing away from her slowly, scowling and wary. He seemed a lot older than he should be. Lines now etched his otherwise young face, his long blond hair was prematurely greying at the temples. He had tied back in a half pony-tail but it still seemed unkempt, like he had bigger problems than his hair. It looked like he hadn't shaved in about a week, either. His robes had seen better days, but you could still make out the ornate gold trimming, the wolfs fur accentuating his broad shoulders. On the whole, she kind of liked the slightly scruffy look.

He was brandishing his staff and blue sparks were crackling along the fingertips of the hand outstretched towards her, ready to cast a spell at any moment. "I'm not going back," he said defiantly. "Not even for you."

"Glad to hear it," Lyra muttered. She was having trouble concentrating on him. She desperately needed rest, even just to sit down for a few moments. Another wave of dizziness hit her and she felt her knees buckle. Fenris rushed forward but Anders reached her first, grabbing her around the waist. His eyes widened in horror as he pulled his hand away to see that it was wet with blood. He glared accusingly at Fenris. "What did you do to her?" he demanded furiously, half supporting, half carrying Lyra over to a table and helping her up on it, forcing her to lie down. Whatever caution he had held at first seeing her had been replaced by concern for Lyra, and anger at Fenris.

"I did nothing," Fenris snarled. "She did that to herself."

"Really? She she shot herself in the shoulder with a crossbow? I'd like to see that trick," Anders raged back at him.

"To be fair," Lyra said in a weary voice. "The mercenaries did help with that."

"She's been here two days and already managed to piss off one of the most dangerous gangs in the city," Fenris snarled, pacing the room in pent up frustration.

"Mercenaries didn't do this," Anders said, ignoring Fenris and untying the blood-soaked bandages. "Looks like you got gored by a bull! Got to get this armour off."

"Ogre, actually," she muttered, grimacing in pain as he pealed back her leathers as gently as possible until she was wearing nothing on her upper body but her undershirt. As glad as she was to see Anders, she was beginning to regret coming here. She tried to sit up but Anders pushed her back down.

"Ogre..." he muttered, shaking his head. "Little wonder, then. This wounds tainted. You didn't touch it did you?" He looked at Fenris in alarm.

The elf shook his head. "She wouldn't let me near her. She patched herself up."

"Still got some sense then. The corruption can spread fast. I'll have to get that bolt out first though. Fenris, get over here and make yourself useful for once."

"Do not start with me, mage," Fenris glowered, but he came over to the table anyway. He looked like he'd like nothing better than to pull his sword and strike that taller man down where he stood, and it was taking a lot of effort to resist the impulse.

"Hold her down," Anders told him, ignoring the malice in the elf's voice. At Fenris' skeptical look he growled at him, "I have to pull the bolt out of her shoulder. It's going to hurt. A lot. I need her to stay still while I do it."

"You're a mage, why don't you just magic it out?" Fenris sneered at him.

Anders turned on him in fury. "And you can stick your fist into peoples chests and crush their heart. Why don't you just reach in and pull it out?" Fenris continued to glower, but said nothing. "Look, the longer we wait the less chance I'll be able to help her at all. Now, HOLD. HER. DOWN."

Fenris said nothing, but moved to the head of the table, placing one arm across her chest and his other hand on her forehead. He looked up at Anders, glaring at the mage until their eyes met. "She saved your life, mage," he said in a low, barely controlled voice. "Now you save hers."

Anders gave a brief nod, then grabbed a thick strap of leather off a nearby table and gave it to Lyra. "Bight down on this," he murmured to her. "It will help." She took the strap in her mouth and bit down, hard.

The bolt had buried itself in the soft tissue just below her collarbone and though it had not struck bone, the tiny barbs on its head tore through her flesh as Anders yanked the the deadly object from her shoulder. Fenris felt her straining against him, her face contorted with pain, but she didn't make a sound. He had to admire her strength. He doubted many men could have done the same. But still...

"Thirty men," he muttered, looking down into her still tightly shut eyes, and the pale, drawn features of her face. "Every one of them after your head." Anders pressed a cloth with some sort of smelly paste on it to the gaping hole in her shoulder and motioned to Fenris that he could let go of her. He stood back, still watching her as she gasped for breath, his face contorting in anger. "And you just charge right into the middle of them. What the hell were you thinking?"

Lyra was still panting heavily, and she swallowed hard before speaking. "Honestly, I was thinking that there were more hidden in the bushes."

"Oh sure," he snarled back. "Joke all you want. But those men were after your head. They could have killed you!"

"I would have got them if that damned ogre hadn't shown up," she said defiantly through gritted teeth as Anders placed her hand on the bandage pressed down on the wound. Then he moved to her side, studiously ignoring the conversation.

"You know what?" Fenris leaned towards her, his features twisted into a mask of fury. "Fine!" he snarled. "You can go off and get yourself killed any way you like. I'm done with you." He gave her one last menacing look, turned on his heel and stalked out of the clinic, slamming the door behind him.

Lyra sighed. "I've been trying to get rid of him all day," she muttered.

"Hold still," Anders ordered. "You're making things worse." He pulled back the bloody rags of her tunic and she gasped as the pain took hold of her again.

"Don't I always?" she said, trying a grin that was more of a grimace.

He didn't respond. Lines of concern creased his brow as he examined the wound in her side more closely. "Hold still," he said again as he held his hands over the wound. A blue light was forming beneath his fingers and Lyra could feel a strange warmth and energy flowing into her. She watched as Anders concentrated so intently on what he was doing that his eyes seemed to glow with the same blue light, or perhaps it was just the reflection of the magic he was working on her injuries. She found she could breath more easily and aside from the throbbing in her shoulder, the pain was gone. She looked down at her side and realized the gaping would had completely healed itself, there was barely a scar to show where she had been gored by the horns of the giant ogre.

Anders gasped and fell back, leading heavily on one of the beams supporting the low ceiling. Lyra sat up, startled, and leaped to his side, still holding the cloth to her shoulder but otherwise barely registering what she was doing. "Anders! Are you all right?" He nodded slowly, rubbing a hand over his forehead. "What happened?" she asked in alarm.

"It was," he said slowly, "a bad wound."

"It was a bad ogre," she said, watching him closely, still tense with concern.

"Lie back down," he said, straightening up and motioning her towards the table. "I'll heal your shoulder."

"No you bloody well won't," she said stubbornly, glaring up at him. "A healing potion will work for that." The poultice was already lessening the ache in her shoulder. And though the wound still bled when she moved the arm, she would be damned if she'd let him work his magic again, now that she knew what it cost him.

Anders knew enough not to argue, and motioned her instead to one of the chairs set by a table in front of a small fireplace. Then he went to the shelves, taking a small bottle of bright red liquid and a roll of cloth. He came back to the table and gave her the potion, sitting down on a chair next to her to bind her shoulder. "Brewed fresh this morning," he said nodding towards the bottle. "Should take the edge off, but we need to keep pressure on it till the bleeding stops." Lyra nodded absently and took a sip of the vile potion, still watching him intently. "I fear you're armor is ruined," he went on, "and that shirt has seen its last as well. I've got a spare tunic in my pack." He grabbed a rucksack from the corner and brought it back to the table, producing a rumpled, but clean, shirt for her to put on.

His expression was still unreadable as he turned his back so she could remove the tatters of her old tunic and gingerly pull on the new one. She could tell he was worried. For her, yes, but there were deeper concerns weighing on him too. After he had turned back round, she had to wait a long time for him to speak. She was hoping for some sign that he was glad to see her, but instead he said, "I've seen you do some reckless things, Lyra. At Amaranthine and the battle for Vigil's Keep... But this... My magic was barely enough to save you. Did I hear Fenris right? Did you really walk into a mob of thirty mercenaries?"

Lyra sighed heavily. She should have expected this. "They weren't mercenaries," she said at last. "And they weren't after me."

"What do you mean? How do you know?" Anders was now thoroughly confused.

"I know because they weren't expecting me." She was now having a hard time meeting his gaze as he studied her intently.

"And that's enough to make you think they weren't after you?" he said dubiously.

"Well, the mage could have had something to do with it," she admitted. "He was hanging back from the others, giving orders. He was wearing a Tevinter Magisters amulet." She took another pull off the bottle, letting the implications set it. "They were slavers, Anders."

"You think they were there for Fenris?" Anders said incredulously, unable to keep the shock out of his voice.

She nodded, then growled in frustration. "He would be a valuable slave. I can't imagine his old master would give him up without a fight.

"Did Fenris see him? Does he know?"

"I don't think so. The mage took off when the fighting started." She shook her head again, got up and started pacing in front of the fire. "I couldn't tell him what was really going on. He would have done something stupid and gotten himself killed."

"Like rushing into a group of heavily armed men, hell bent on taking as many of them down as he could before they finally got him?" he said inquiringly.

She knew his meaning instantly and glared at him. He met her gaze and held it until she sighed again and turned to watch the flames dancing in the fireplace. She heard Anders chair creak as he rose and stood beside her. He reached out, as if to put a hand on her uninjured shoulder, but thought better of it. "You don't have to save everyone, you know," he said softly.

She smiled up at him, a little sadly perhaps. "You know me better than that," she said. "I'm not trying to save everyone..."

"Really?" he said in mild surprise. "You saved my ass I don't know how many times. You already saved all of Thedas from the Blight. Vigil's Keep is probably still singing songs about you."

"And I burned Amaranthine to the ground," she said, disgust souring her tone.

"To save the Keep, remember? You came back for us. Besides, I hear they're rebuilding Amaranthine. Better than ever." It was his turn to shake his head at her. "And now you go and save a right bastard of an elf that you met, what? Yesterday? And you're not even going to tell him, are you?"

"He doesn't need to know," she said dismissively.

"Still can't stand the gratitude, eh?"

"It's not that," she said slowly, a mischievous grin on her face. "I just don't think he'd ever forgive me."

Anders grinned for the first time since she had entered the clinic. "He probably wouldn't, at that." It was good to see him smiling again. Back when they had first met at Vigils Keep they had laughed and joked around all the time. He had changed so much since then. It was good to see a part of the old Anders was still in there somewhere. And yet he was still holding back, like there was something he wanted to tell her, but he couldn't bring himself to do so.

"Come on," he said abruptly. "Fenris is depressing enough without the two of us brooding over him. Lets have a drink. Talk about the good old days." She let him lead her back to the table and she sat down again. "I think I still have some wine around here somewhere." He rummaged around in one of the cupboards for a while before pulling out a very dusty bottle of wine and two mismatched glasses.

"Anders, you know I don't-" she began as he filled one of the mugs and set it in front of her.

"I know, I know. But this is a special occasion," he said, filling the other glass. "I haven't seen you in years. Have a drink with me." He grinned at her mischievously. "I know the only reason you don't drink is because when you do, you have a tendency to start dancing on tables singing elvish drinking songs." He winked at her and she laughed. It felt like year since she had laughed like this. "You know," he continued thoughtfully, "I didn't even know the Dalish had drinking songs before I met you."

"They don't," she said, suppressing another fit of laughter. "Those were Dwarfish songs I learned from Ogren. I just threw in a few _Elvhen_ words here and there."

"Huh," he shrugged, a bemused expression on his face. "That explains the odd looks I get from Varric whenever I try singing them." Then he grinned broadly. "You remember that time we broke into the wine cellar at the Keep? Maker, was Ogren pissed when he found out we drank all the brandy!"

She shook her head and smiled at the memory, what little of it she had, they had been pretty drunk after all. Then they raised their glasses in silent salute and they each drank. But when Anders lowered his mug, his expression was serious again. "I meant what I said, you know. I'm not going back."

"You still think that's why I'm here? To take you back to Ferelden?" she said incredulously.

"But... but you told the Templars-"

"A big fat lie," she said laughing. "For the Creators sake, Anders, I didn't even know you were in Kirkwall till I walked through that door. Just because I haven't seen you in a while, it doesn't mean I'm going to hand you over to the blasted Templars to be made tranquil, or worse." She shook her head at him again but her expression was suddenly curious. "Why ARE you in Kirkwall anyway?"

"That," he said, sighing wearily," is a long story."

"Oh, good," she said brightly. "I love long stories. Unless it's boring. It's not boring is it?"

He laughed. "Lyra, when have our lives EVER been boring?"

"Fair point," she agreed. "So? Get on with it then."

"Well, after you left, I was placed under a new commander. Mean old bastard. Gorgeth I think his name was. Straight out of Weisshaupt." Lyra knew he was referring to the Grey Warden fortress hidden deep in the Aderfel mountains. The terrain bred a certain type of people, hard, cold and serious, like the mountains themselves. It was Grey Warden headquarters, where the First Warden presided over the order. "I don't think he'd ever left the fortress his entire life." Anders went on.

"People aren't born Grey Wardens, Anders. You know that."

"I've got five silver that says HE was," he shot back. "Anyway, he was always going on about duty and honor, and how the sacrifices we make are for the good of mankind."

"And what did you say to that?" she grinned.

Anders shrugged rather sheepishly. "I asked if we were to leave womenkind to rot, then." Lyra burst into another fit of giggles. "Got two weeks scrubbing potatoes for that."

She finally regained control of herself and said, "You didn't leave the Wardens just because of that, did you?"

"You know me. I've never been one for staying in one place too long," he grinned, but she was not about to let it go at that. Finally he said, "No, it was more... Well there was my cat, for one."

"That kitten I gave you?" she said brightly, suddenly remembering the little orange kitten she had found wandering around the Keep. "What did you call him? Sir Pounce-a-lot, wasn't it?"

Anders nodded. "He was a full frown cat by that time. Good cat, too. Hated the Deep Roads almost as much as I did. You know, he fought of a Genlock once? Slash the bugger right across the nose," he said chuckling to himself.

Lyra laughed along with him. "What happened to him?" She was looking around, fully expecting to see the orange tabby cat trotting in from a successful mouse hunt, or something.

Anders hung his head sadly. "They made me give him away. Left him with a friend in Amaranthine. The new Commander said he made me soft."

Lyra sighed. "Well," she said in a consolatory tone of voice, "you always were a bit squishy."

"Hey now!" he shot back.

"The number of times I had to pull your ass out of the fire," she said, laughing again. "Usually a fire you started!" Anders had to concede that and he grinned. "Hey, remember that time you burned down that shack out the outskirts of the city?"

"I was aiming for the leader of that smuggling ring," he whined. "Not my fault he was standing in front of the secret entrance to their hideout."

She laughed again, then paused thoughtfully. "Hey, did we ever get them all?"

"To a man, as I recall," he said in a satisfied tone, taking another sip of his drink.

"Ah, yes. Good times." She paused, reliving past glories. Then she turned to him, suddenly curious again, but concerned as well. "What happened to you, Anders? I mean, back then you were all thunderbolts and lightning, very very frightening. Now you're a healer?"

He shrugged, "People change."

But there was no way she was going to be satisfied with that. "Not that much. And not that fast." Change, she could believe. But something drastic must have happened to trigger it. The Anders she knew would never have been happy sitting down here with the dregs of the city his only company. The Anders she remembered would have been out getting into as much trouble as humanly possible.

He stared at his drink a long while before saying anything. He seemed to be trying to decide what to tell her. She wanted the truth, but she had a feeling she wasn't going to get it. Not the whole truth anyway. "Gorgeth had ordered an expedition into the deep roads," he said finally."To hunt down any stragglers, he said. He told us all we were too soft and two months down there with the darkspawn would toughen us up." He shook his head angrily. "Two months! Can you believe that? I knew then I was done for if I stayed so I hopped the first ship out of port. Just my luck it was headed for Kirkwall."

"Out of the frying pan and into the fire," she nodded. "Why'd you stay though? I mean, there are more Templars here than I have ever seen in my entire life. You could have found someplace a little safer, couldn't you?"

Anders stood up, trying to find the words. "I guess you could say it's your fault."

"My fault, how?" sje said indignantly.

"All that time we spent running around, helping people," he said, still pacing. "I missed that. I wasn't with the Grey Wardens any more but I still wanted to help people." He looked at her imploringly. "You've seen the people down here. They're Ferelden, mostly. Like us. But they've just been left down here to rot. These people need me. They protect me." He stopped, suddenly remembering. "Meredith knows about me now though... Things are going to get difficult."

"I don't think so." He gave her a dubious look. "What she knows is that you're a Grey Warden, and she can't touch you. As long as I'm around, you're safe. Just like old times, eh?" she grinned at him again, and he gave a wan smile, not liking the idea that she was putting herself between him and the Templars once again.

"What about you, though?" he said, trying to take the focus off himself. "Why are you in Kirkwall?"

She took a long time to answer that. It wasn't really something she could explain to someone who didn't already know about the Grey Wardens. But then, Anders did know, didn't he? "Well, I actually AM here on Grey Warden business." _Stretching a bit_, she thought. _But just a bit_. He was waiting for her to continue. "Tell me," she said finally, "do you still have the dreams?"

Anders shrugged. "I joined after the Blight was over, so I never really had much trouble. Now I guess I just block them out entirely. Why? Are you still having them?"

She nodded slowly. "Something brought me here. There's something... wrong... about this place. Something's here that shouldn't be. In my dreams I can almost see it, but when I wake up, I can't remember what it was." She sighed. "I'm not even sure that they actually are darkspawn dreams, or just my mind working overtime. But they have to mean something, right?" She had been hoping for confirmation, but Anders stayed silent, watching her carefully. And was that apprehension she could see in his eyes?

It was a while before he spoke again, and when he did his expression had become thoughtful. "You always did have worse dreams than the rest of us. You remember when we were at Vigils Keep, and the dreams would wake you up at night? We would climb to the top of the East tower? We'd climb through the hatch and lay on the roof talking till the sun came up. Just us and the stars.." he was smiling wistfully. "I miss that..." he turned and looked at her. "I missed you, Lyra."

"Anders..."

"We were friends, weren't we?" he said, suddenly getting to his feet once more. "You're probably the only real friend I ever had. And then you left and everything changed. I did some... regrettable things. And I figured that part of my life was over and I could never get it back. But, here you are..." he stopped pacing and sighed heavily. He was looking everywhere but directly at her as if trying to find the words. Finally he looked at her, holding her gaze, and said, "Maybe you don't have to be alone."

"Anders," she said, tearing her eyes away from his. "Yes, we were friends... But... I've always known I would die alone. Its part of being a Grey Warden."

"No, its not. Just a part of being you," Anders muttered, sinking back into his chair. If she heard him, she didn't let on. "Look, forget I said anything, ok? We'll just go back to being two people who knew each other once a very long time ago," he said bitterly, but she could tell his heart wasn't in it. He stared at the floor a long time before meeting her gaze again. "It's just... Don't you ever wonder what you're missing?"

Her face was set, not angry, but determined. "I know exactly what I'm missing." Then, as if suddenly remembering herself, she stood up and said, "I have to go. It's late and-"

"No, Lyra, wait," he said, half rising in an attempt to stop her, but she was already turning towards the door. "Will I see you again?"

She turned to him and smiled, her expression friendly once more. "Us 'two people' seem bound to keep bumping into one another, as long as you keep pissing off Templars." He grinned sheepishly. "You'll probably see me around. I'm not going anywhere. And besides, you are the best healer in town."

He smiled as he watched her leave the clinic, then sat back down, turning the half drunk glass of wine in his hand. He hadn't realized how much he missed having her in his life until she had reappeared. Now he felt the emptiness even more strongly. And yet he had lied to her. Well, not lied exactly. He simply hadn't told her the whole truth. And why not? After all, if anyone could understand she would. But he had held back. He had practically bared his heart to her but he couldn't tell her this one thing.

He sighed and finished off the glass of wine. Then he heard a voice in the back of his mind, that had become so much a part of him that he hardly recognized it as not his own. "It was good to see the elf girl again." Anders nodded absently to himself. "But she can not become a distraction."

He nodded again and spoke aloud, though there was no one in the room," We've got planning to do." He went to a small writing desk in the corner, picked up a sheaf of parchment, quill and ink, and began to write.


	8. Chapter 8

**Authors Note:**_ Again not strictly cannon. Enjoy, and reviews welcome._

* * *

><p>Welcome to Kirkwall<p>

Chapter 8: Stories and Legends

When the door to Anders clinic closed behind her, she was already lost in thought. Memories of Amaranthine flitted in and out of focus in her minds eye. She almost didn't notice Hawke until he was right in front of her, startling her out of her reverie.

"Are you all right?" he said, concern creasing his brow. He was in full armour now. The shiny black plate mail was impressive to say the least. There was a red etching on the breastplate and shoulder guard. Family crest, perhaps? She would have to ask him about it later. She wondered if he was out in all his regalia for her sake, or if he had been anticipating battle. If that was the case. the armour certainly added to the intimidation factor.

"I'm fine," she said finally, smiling up wearily at him, and he seemed to relax somewhat.

"Fenris just told me what happened," he said, then looked thoughtful for a moment. "I don't think I have ever heard anyone use the phrase 'bloody fool' so many times in one sentence."

She grinned again and shook her head. "Quite the little information network you've got going on. Fenris must have run straight to Hightown with the news."

Hawke shrugged. "That's what friends are for," he said brightly. "To spread the juiciest gossip as efficiently as possible." He gave her a self satisfied smile, then said, "Well, seeing as how you aren't at death's door just yet, allow me to escort you back to the Hanged Man." He gave an exaggerated bow and held out his arm for her.

"If you insist," she said laughing, but did not take the proffered arm. Instead she began walking away from the clinic and Hawke fell into step beside her. "Speaking of escorts," she said. "Perhaps next time you decide I need someone following me around, do you suppose you could chose someone who doesn't hate me quite so much? I was half expecting Fenris' blade in my back. I'm afraid he doesn't think very highly of me."

"I'm sorry, what?" He seemed thoroughly confused, but Lyra wasn't going to be taken in.

"Oh, give it up," she said in exasperation. "I know you asked Fenris to keep an eye on me."

"Um, sorry to burst your bubble, but no. I didn't. I had no idea where he went. We were going to go check on the Bone Pit today, but he never showed up."

She was watching him carefully, unable to decide if he was lying or not. Either he was a very good liar, or he really had no idea Fenris had gone with her. If he was telling the truth then why had Fenris been waiting outside the Hanged Man that morning? He obviously didn't think very much of her. Why would he care what sort of trouble she got herself into? She sighed inwardly. Just another one of the lanky elf's many mysteries, she guessed. On the surface he was fairly easy to read and she guessed she had been very close to the truth that morning when she told him he was still a slave, but she sensed there was a lot more to the elf than he let on, perhaps more than he knew himself.

They walked on in silence for a little while, each lost in thought. Then Hawke paused, interrupting her thoughts and said, "Point of interest." He pointed towards a pile of rocks stacked almost to the ceiling. "Behind there you will find a hidden doorway."

"And why would that interest me?" she asked innocently, Forgetting Fenris for a moment and fighting back the adventurer's desire to find the door for herself and see what ay beyond.

"Because, dear lady. That door leads to my families wine cellars. Very useful for moving about Kirkwall unnoticed." He smiled and winked at her.

"And for letting in ladies of negotiable morality, no doubt."

"My, my, aren't we jaded," he said laughing. "Though I assure you, I have never made use of it for that purpose." The slight grin persisted as they walked and she found herself wondering what the enterance HAD been used for. "Prior to my less than illustrious arrival, the cellars had been commandeered by slavers, who used it to smuggle their wares in and out of the city." A hard glint had entered his eyes, and the grin was beginning to look more like a snarl.

She watched him for awhile but he didn't seem willing to offer any more on the subject. Finally, her curiosity got the better of her. "What happened to them?"

He stopped, gazing absently into nothing. When he turned to her, he was smiling broadly, but she could tell there was no humour in it. "Bloody slaughter," he said maliciously. It took her by surprise. She hadn't expected him to take such pleasure in killing, but she supposed that many had the same opinion of slavers. Besides, there was a time when there had been a much similar look on her face, a few hours ago in fact. The look of malicious glee fell quickly and Hawke shrugged, "Or so I have been told."

"Am I to believe you had nothing to do with it, then?"

"Me?" he said in mock surprise. "Why, I'm as innocent as the sunrise."

She laughed, an odd feeling in a place so ripe with despair, and they moved on. When she and Fenris had entered Darktown, she had taken little notice of the state of the place, she had mostly been concentrating on staying upright. Now she saw there were people everywhere, mostly Ferelden, to judge from their clothes. People who had fled to the sewers simply because there was no where else for them to go. It reminded her strongly of an alienage, though instead of elves, this one housed humans. _They even treat their own kind like garbage_, she thought bitterly. _Little wonder they have no respect for elves, they don't even respect each other._

Hawke led her through the maze of tunnels and people, a few of them nodding to him as he passed. Apparently, he was well known even here, not only known but respected. In a place where few had respect for anything, it was an odd sight. But then, he was a Ferelden, just like them. Well no, not like them. He was living in a mansion in Hightown while they lived in squalor. Still, she guessed he had done a lot for these people over the years.

She suddenly realized she had no idea where she was, and felt extremely grateful for his presence. Had she gone on alone she would never have found her way out of the undercity, but Hawke seemed to be having no trouble navigating the narrow passageways, as if he had spent a lot of time here. She suspected he had used the cellar door more than once, but for what purpose was anyone's guess.

It was later than she imagined when Lyra finally saw the sky again. The light had almost faded, leaving only a faint glow on the horizon. _The colour of the nights sky in the last seconds before the light has faded..._ She sighed. The thought of Fenarel was not currently a comforting one. She was already confused and slightly angry over what Anders had said. Things had seemed so much simpler before today, when she thought she was leaving all that behind her. She would never admit to running away, of course, but a part of her did like the fact that going to Kirkwall would take her far out of reach of everything and everyone from her past. Now it seemed that they had not only followed her here, but had been waiting. She growled to herself and kicked at the hard packed earth in frustration as she walked.

"Something wrong?" Hawke asked, eyeing her curiously.

Lost in thought, she had almost forgotten he was even there. "No," she sighed. "Simply a very long and eventful day. A few more reunions than I was hoping for."

"Ah," he said knowingly. "You went to see the Dalish."

She nodded, but said nothing more on the subject, though she knew he was curious. Finally, she said, "I can make my way from here. My daggers could use a good cleaning, as could I, in fact."

"As you wish," he shrugged. "Try not to run into any more mercenary ambushes on the way, won't you?"

She grinned at him mischievously. "I make no promises."

He laughed and waved farewell as he headed towards the steps to Hightown. She turned away and headed towards the inn. It was easily the most recognizable building in the district, being taller than most. The large upside down figure of a man swinging by his ankle from a thick rope over the front door didn't hurt either.

She pushed open the heavy door and the smell of food and drink almost overwhelmed her. She decided that cleaning her blades could wait for bit and sat down at the bar. She would have to see an armourer in the morning, but that was morning, and right now she needed a hot meal. Her stomach was angrily reminding her that she hadn't eaten since the slice of stale bread that morning and she feared the rising grumble might be audible over the general din of the inn's patrons.

"Good evenin' miss," Corff the bartender said as soon as he saw her. "Pint for ye' tonight?"

She shook her head. "Just some stew, if its still on, please."

The bartender nodded and ambled off toward the kitchens. She occupied herself with the various graffiti that had been carved into the bartop, taking particular interest in the scratchings reading, "ISABELLA WAS HERE". It couldn't possibly be the same Isabella she had met in Denerim, could it? But she was Captain of a ship, was she not? And the Hanged Man was certainly the sort of place she'd be likely to frequent. Good gods, was everyone she ever met about to turn up here? Was there some sort of convention going on that no one had told her about?

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sight of a stocky dwarf approaching her, a bemused smirk upon his broad face. She was trying to figure out what was odd about him, then it hit her. He didn't have a beard. She didn't think she'd ever seen a dwarf without a beard, well, except for the women, of course, and even a few of them... He pulled out the stool next to her and climbed nimbly onto the seat, keeping his eye on her, the smile never wavering. Whatever he lacked in facial hair, he more than made up for in chest hair, as evidenced by the open necked tunic and heavy leather jacket he wore.

Corff set a steaming bowl in front of her and she took her eyes off the dwarf and studied the contents of the bowl. She thought it must have been stew, though it looked nothing like the chunky grey paste she had become accustomed to in Ferelden, the kind that made you wonder if it had been eaten once already. Here she could identify the meat, potatoes, and... was that a carrot? It smelled delicious and she set about to enjoy her meal, but she could still feel the dwarfs eyes upon her. His steady gaze was slightly unnerving. Finally, she could stand it no longer and said, "Is there something you want?"

"You've been avoiding me," he said in a deep, quiet voice, as if trying not to be overheard.

"I don't believe I even know you, dwarf," she replied, studying him again. She had met many dwarves in her travels, she had even been responsible for putting Bhelen on the throne of Orzammar. But she was quite certain that she had never met this dwarf in her life.

"Perhaps not," he shrugged. "But I know you, Hero of Ferelden."

"Oh gods. What now?" she moaned. _This is ridiculous_, she thought. _How could everyone and their DOG know who I am?_

The dwarf was still grinning at her, apparently pleased that his assumption had been correct. "The name's Varric Tethras," he said holding out a stubby hand. Rings adorned his thick fingers, including what appeared to be a signet ring bearing the crest of one of the noble houses of Orzammar. "I'm a story teller of sorts."

She eyed him shrewdly, studying the proffered hand but not taking it. _The head of a noble house on the surface and hanging around a pub in Lowtown? I don't think so._ "Where I'm from we have a different name for people like that," she said harshly. "We call them liars."

A hand flew to his heart. "My dear lady, you wound me. I may be prone to the occasional exaggeration, but I would never lie. Quite frankly, with the sort of people I hang around with, I've no need to lie, the truth is too fantastic all by itself."

She guessed, rather accurately, that the sort of people he associated with were the same ones she had been bumping into for the past two days. "Another friend of Hawke's, I assume?" He nodded and she sighed. "And what exactly do you want from me, then?"

"I was simply curious," he shrugged again, and then leaned close as if imparting a secret. "You see, a little while ago a man came in here claiming to have been robbed of a big payday by an elf girl who had stumbled into their ambush along the Wounded Coast. He says she killed half their men before anyone could even get a shot off."

"Is that so," she said dryly.

"Then he said an ogre had shown up and killed the girl. I didn't believe him, of course, I mean a lone girl taking on a group of heavily armed men, then taken down by an ogre? That just doesn't make sense."

Her temper flared suddenly. "How would he know?" she demanded. "That coward ran the second he saw the ogre... Umm... probably..."

"Ha! So it was you." The dwarf looked extremely pleased with himself, and she mentally kicked herself for taking the bait. "I do have one question, however," he continued conspiratorially. "How does a famous dragon slayer like the Hero of Ferelden, get put down by a lone ogre?"

Lyra was glaring at him, cold rage flooding over her. "You want to know how I took down the dragon? Exactly how?" she hissed. "Forty dwarves plus the Legion of the Dead. Fifty knights from Redcliff. Twenty Dalish archers, and a whole chorus of healers and mages. You want to talk of hero's? Tell of them," she snarled, then seemed to remember. "Oh, and ballistas. We had ballistas as well." Her anger was due in no small part to the fact that she despised being called hero. It wasn't like she had taken on the damn dragon all by herself. She had done what needed to be done, but she hadn't been alone. "All I had out on the coast was Fenris and the hope he wouldn't stab me in the back," she growled. It was odd that she had never thought about it before, but whenever she had gone into battle, she had always had people she could trust at her back...

Verric didn't seem to have heard. "Yes, yes there were other people there. But they didn't kill the thing. I want YOUR story. There are so many rumours flying around, people come to me for the truth."

She gave a frustrated sigh, trying to quell her anger. Finally, she shrugged. "There's nothing to tell. Anyone can kill a darkspawn, they're flesh and blood like anything else. The only trick is not getting tainted in the process. And as a grey warden, really nothing to worry about there. Not exactly very heroic."

Varric chuckled. "Still, we probably could have used you in the Deep Roads."

She had turned back towards her food but the mention of the underground caverns mostly populated by darkspawn caught her attention. "The Deep Roads?" she said, trying her best to sound nonchalant. "Here in the Free Marches?"

Verric hadn't been taken in. He grinned broadly, leaned back in his chair and said, "Yup, took an expedition out a few years ago."

Lyra put down her spoon very carefully. "Tell you what, Varric," she said turning to him once more. "Let me buy you a pint and you can tell me all about this expedition of yours."

He shook his head and chuckled. "Some stories may come that cheap, Bright-Eyes. But not this one."

Her eyes narrowed as she studied him. "Very well. How about this, then. A story for a story? I'll tell you the story of the Hero of Ferelden, and you tell me about the Deep Roads."

He made a show of pondering the offer. "I can live with that," he said nodding, "AND the pint."

"You drive a hard bargain, Messere Tethras. So be it." She motioned to Corff to bring over a pint of ale. "Well lets see," she said thoughtfully. "The Archdemon had gotten to Denerim before us, and had almost completely destroyed the city by the time we arrived with-"

"Whoa whoa whoa!" Varric held up a hand, the other was already grasping the mug. "You're not very good at this are you? You need to start a story where it began. Everyone here wants to know how you became a Grey Warden. Not the rituals and all that, but you, yourself.

"THAT is not a tale told for the asking," she said coldly.

The dwarf took a draught of ale, studying her a long while before he shrugged it off. "Fine fine, we'll do it your way. People like a bit of mystery, anyway. So how did you kill the Archdemon?"

"Stabbed it through the heart, then cut off its head. Either way will work in a pinch," she said simply, not willing to give this dwarf anything more than was necessary.

"That's it? You just have to kill a dragon?" he said incredulously.

_'Just', he says._ She was remembering the rooftop battle that had taken the lives of many under her command. "Not quite as easy as it may sound."

"Hey now, me and Hawke have killed a few dragons in our time. A hard fight, sure, but nothing too special about it," he said dismissively, taking another large gulp from his mug.

"The Archdemon is not just a dragon..." she sighed.

Verric shrugged again. "From what I've heard, it sure looks like a dragon."

She paused, wondering just how much she should tell this talkative dwarf. Finally she said, "The dragon is just the body... Do you know what an Archdemon is? I mean really is?" Varric shook his head and she continued. "It is said that an Archdemon the soul of an old god, taken form, and tainted by the darkspawn. Just as the Grey Wardens are tainted. That's why only a Grey Warden can kill it. If any other were to try, the creature would live on."

Varric looked intensely interested again. "You said you just had to chop off its head. What happens when a Grey Warden does it?"

She sighed again. This was dangerous territory to get into. She wondered vaguely if she was spreading Grey Warden secrets. But really, no one had actually TOLD her not to tell anyone. "Killing an Archdemon requires... a death." At Varric's look of confusion, she continued, "When a Grey Warden strikes the final blow, the soul of the demon is absorbed by the warden and both are destroyed."

"But I thought you killed it. Who died when the Archdemon of Ferelden was killed?"

"No one," she said simply, a mischievous glint in her eye.

"What? So the Archdemon's still alive?" he exclaimed a little too loudly. Heads were turning in their direction.

"Oh, no," she assured him. "The demon is dead. I should know, I struck the final blow myself, and yet, here I am." She gave him a cunning smile. "How's that for mystery?"

Varric sat back in his chair and let out a low whistle. "Wow... I was wrong about you. You do know how to tell a good story."

She chuckled to herself and said, "Good enough for you to tell me about the Deep Roads?"

Varric shook his head but said, "All right, but I still want to know the rest." Now it was his turn to be thoughtful. He had emptied his mug and she called to Corff for another. He didn't speak again till he had it in his hand and had polished of half of it in a gulp. "My brother and I had been planning this expedition for months," he said at last, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his coat. "Everyone wanted to hire on with us, and I mean everyone. Even Hawke and his sister Bethany tried it. But Bartrand was a stubborn jackass."

"Hawke has a sister?" Lyra interrupted, wondering where she had been and why Hawke had not mentioned her.

Varric nodded slowly. "Yeah. He doesn't talk about her much. Not after what happened." He paused for a long time, his expression unreadable. "Anyway, I convinced Bartrand that instead of hiring them as guards, we should make them partners. They would help fund the expedition and so get a share of the profits. Hawke was just another broke down Ferelden at the time but he came up with the money fast. Faster than I thought possible, but Hawke is... well... Hawke. We we set off with Anders' Grey Warden maps to guide us."

"Anders..." she muttered. "Figures he would come into this."

"You know Blondie?" Varric asked, slightly surprised, then remembered "Oh, yeah. I guess you would. Anyway, the maps showed the location of a Primeval Thaig, but it took us weeks to get to the entrance, and even longer to find a way through all the rubble, darkspawn hounding us at every turn. One of the main passages was caved in so while the others set up camp at the cave in, me, Hawke, Fenris and Bethany went to search out a way around. We found it, all right. Darkspawn, golems, ogres, you name it. Never would have made it through if Bethany hadn't been so quick with her magic."

_So Hawke's sister is a mage. That explains his fondness for them_, she thought absently. "Eventually, we came to a central chamber," Varric was saying. "Completely sealed, but Bethany touched one of the walls with that staff of hers and a doorway appeared, right out of the stone, and we went inside. It looked like some kind of altar room with a raised platform in the middle. And on it, was a statue, or idol or something... made of pure lyrium..."

"An idol made of lyrium?" She stared at him, wide-eyed, her stew now completely forgotten.

He nodded. "Creepiest thing I'd ever seen. Made you feel weird just being in the same room with it. We were poking around, seeing if there was any more treasure in the chamber when Bartrand showed up. We were talking about what something like that might be worth when he just took the damn thing, and locked us in the chamber. Now, I knew my brother was a greedy bastard but i never expected he'd try something like that. We almost died fighting our way out of those caves..." He paused, sighing heavily. "Bethany didn't make it out. She was tainted, or whatever you call it. Hawke gave her a... clean end..."

"I'm so sorry," she said sincerely. She knew now why Hawke never mention his sister, and she could sympathize.

Varric nodded but it was a long moment before spoke again, and now his voice was angry again. "That bastard paid for it though. That idol drove Bartrand mad. Said it sang to him."

"Wait," Lyra said, "It sang to him?" If she hadn't been paying much attention before, she was now. Every muscle was screaming out to her. Was this what she had been looking for? Varric nodded again, now watching her curiously. "Where is he now?" she said hurriedly. "Does he still have it?"

"No," he said slowly, still studying her. "He sold the damn thing before we ever found him, and when we did-"

"I need to talk to him," Lyra said, now burning with purpose.

"Well, that would be kind of difficult. He was so far gone by the time we found him that he begged me to put an end to it... I've been searching for the damn thing ever since."

"Damn it, Varric!" she shouted, slamming a fist on the bartop. "I need to find that statue!" All eyes were on them now and she suddenly realized that she was on her feet and shouting. Varric had be stunned almost out of his chair by her outburst and it took the rest of his ale to compose himself again. She sat back down, trying to calm herself, and said in a much quieter voice. "Look, Varric. I'm very sorry about your brother. I know what its like to have to kill someone you are close to. But I have to find that idol. It's important."

"Hold on, there, Bright-Eyes," he said. "I've been looking for that damn thing for months and haven't heard a peep. Whoever's got it, isn't advertising." He paused, suddenly very thoughtful and looked at her curiously. "Why does a Grey Warden care so much about a dwarven artifact anyway?"

"Because if I'm right," she said, her voice almost a whisper. "It's not a dwarven artifact." She paused as if trying to remember. Something about singing... Then it came to her. "I've heard of lyrium singing before," she said slowly, "A spirit from the fade got trapped in this world. He said the lyrium here sang to him. But if a dwarf, or anyone living could hear it... That idol must be much more than just lyrium."

At the mention of a spirit trapped outside the fade, Varric had given her a very odd look, as if there was something he wanted to say, but was unsure how to broach the subject. Finally, he seemed to give up on it, saying instead, "Any thoughts on that score?"

Lyra was frantically wracking her brain. An idea had come to her, but it sounded too incredible to be right. She had never heard of such a thing before. "I can't be sure..." she said slowly. "But it may be the heart of an old god. It would explain why it drove Bartrand mad. It is said that while they sleep, they can drive men to madness."

Varric looked at her skeptically. "I've seen dragon hearts, and that thing didn't look anything like it."

Lyra threw up her hands, completely exasperated. "Haven't you been listening to me?" she demanded angrily. "I'm not talking about the dragons that live in the open air! I'm talking about the living beating heart of an old god. Its soul, if you're feeling poetic." At Varric's look of comprehension she paused, thinking fast. "You said the chamber was sealed? The darkspawn hadn't gotten to it?" Varric shook his head, not entirely sure of where she was going with this. "If the taint hadn't yet corrupted it... Demons embody negative emotions. What if the idol could be corrupted the same way. Hatred, pride..."

"Greed, in Bartrands case," the dwarf volunteered, and she nodded. "But how do you kill something like that?"

"Same way you kill an Archdemon, I guess." She shrugged. "There isn't exactly a precedent for this kind of thing." Her grumbling stomach reminded her of the bowl of stew sitting in front of her, now cold, and she picked up the spoon again. There really wasn't anything to do about it except try to find the idol, and who knew where that had got to. Right now she needed food, and cold stew was still better than nothing. Her mind was still racing however. There was something she was missing. Something nagging at the back of her mind but she couldn't put a finger on it. She was eating automatically while her mind worked and barely noticed when she had emptied the contents of the bowl.

Varric was still watching her intently, looking extremely impressed. "I don't think I have ever seen someone eat that fast," he said. "And I'm a dwarf, so that's saying something."

"Hmm?" she said, wiping at the corners of her mouth. "Oh, yeah. I suppose I was hungry."

"On the verge of starvation, more like," he said chuckling, but Lyra's attention had already been diverted by the door of the inn opening as a lanky elf with dark eyes and a shock of white hair walked in.

"Oh, no," she groaned. "There's only so much I can take in one day." She turned back to Varric. "Listen, keep on your contacts, I'll see what I can dig up on my own. I want to know everything you know about that idol and what happened with Bartrand, and I do mean EVERYTHING." She sighed wearily. "But not tonight..." She got up to leave, taking another glance at the door. She was surprised to see that Hawke had entered just behind Fenris, and even more surprised to see Trouble bounding along behind them. "And where have you been all day?" she said as the dog trotted up to her, smiling broadly and wagging his hindquarters in greeting.

"He's been keeping Moira company," Hawke said, pulling a stool up to the bar and easing himself onto it. He had removed the black plate mail armour in favour of a set of less extravagant splintmail. Not quite as impressive, but he blended more easily with the crowd in the tavern.

"Well, at least he wasn't terrorizing the peasant folk," she said grinning and scratching the dog behind his ears, which immediately turned him into a writhing mass of slobber, trying to lick anything within reach of his tongue. Fenris was hanging back, as if unsure if he would be welcome in her presence. He was keeping his eyes downcast, his expression unreadable. She largely ignored him as she edged away from the group. "Well, gentlemen, I fear I must bid you goodnight."

Varric and Hawke bid her farewell, and even Fenris looked like he wanted to say something, but remained silent as she made her way up the stairs toward her room. She shoved the door open and lit the lamp on the stand next tot he door.

The place was a disaster. She thought for a moment that thieves had entered the room while she had been away. Not that there was anything of value there, she carried most of her things with her wherever she went, as she had very little in the way of possessions. But then she remembered that Trouble had been in the room when she left, and she sighed. He had made a complete mess of the bed, and as she picked the blankets off the floor and straightened them she noticed a note where the pillow should have been. She took it and replaced the pillow, which had become wedged between the bed and the wall.

'We have to talk.' Curiously, the note had not been signed. Who knew she was here? She supposed that thanks to Hawke's little information network, half of Kirkwall could know by now, but still, she doubted Corff would have let anyone into the room while she was gone. Her gaze fell on the closed window and she frowned, trying to remember if she had shut it before she left. She went to the window and reopened it, a slight breeze bringing in the smells and sounds of the ever wakeful city outside. She took a deep breath and sighed. _If they wanted to talk so badly,_ she thought_, they could at least have left a name_. _Oh well, whoever it is will just have to find me, I guess._ She put it out of her mind as she took out her daggers and placed them on the table near the wash basin. Then, dipping a cloth into the basin, began the polishing the twin blades.

As her hands performed the familiar task, she let her mind wander inevitably to the dark corridors of the Deep Roads, and this mysterious idol, trying to recall everything she had ever heard about the old gods. She knew they had been worshipped as dragons. She had encountered a cult in Ferelden who had believed that a high dragon that lived in the mountains around Haven was the reincarnated form of Andraste herself. It hadn't been, of course. Andraste had been human. A prophet, and a noble leader perhaps, but not a god. And definitely not a dragon.

It was said that in ancient times the Maker, angered by the peoples worship of these 'false gods', had cast them down, imprisoning them underground to slumber, their minds still wandering the Fade, lost in dreams. That's what the Chantry said, anyway, and though she never quite believed everything the Chant of Light said, some part of this rang true for her.

She sighed as she finished polishing the blades, caressing them softly before putting them away, then splashed some water over herself. The important thing was to find the idol. What it really was mattered very little until there was something she could do about it. All the same, it felt good to have purpose again. For years she had felt like she was simply existing, with no other purpose than to keep going. After becoming a Grey Warden there had always been somewhere to go, something to do. Even after the Archdemon had been killed, there was Amaranthine, the Architect, and the Mother. But since then she had been drifting, the Calling, and her death, the only thing to look forward to. Yes, it was good to have purpose again. Just a shame it didn't come with some sort of direction.

She sighed and blew out the lamp, then climbed into bed. It was certainly not the softest thing she had slept on, but it was still better than the cold ground she had become accustomed to on her travels. She lay for a while, staring at the low ceiling, her mind wandering again, until thoughts of old gods and idols became dreams of darkspawn and dragons.


	9. Chapter 9

**Authors Note: **_Sorry for the delay. Reviews always welcome!_

* * *

><p>Welcome to Kirkwall<p>

Chapter 9: By Order of the Warden-Commander and the Knight-Commander's Orders

When Lyra finally opened her eyes the next morning the sun was already high in the sky and shining brightly through her open window. She couldn't help but feel vaguely disappointed. After the revelations of the previous day, she had been sure that her dreams would have been clearer, perhaps hinting at some sort of direction. But instead, they shed no more light on her mission, if such it could be called, than before. Tamlen still haunted her dreams, as did the mirror, and there was one particularly strange dream in which Trouble had turned into a giant chicken and was chasing her around the Denerim alienage. _Perhaps it was symbolic, _she thought bemusedly as she pulled Anders' oversized tunic over her head, wincing slightly at the sharp pain in her shoulder as she did so. The bottle of healing potion Anders had given her was on the stand next to the basin and she swallowed a mouth full hastily before she forgot again. She hated to do it, it felt like cheating, but mages orders. She then slipped into a pair of light leather breeches and tucked in the tails of the shirt. She had to roll up the sleeves a bit to keep her hands free but it would do until she could get her armor repaired.

She studied the effect in the mirror over the basin as she ran a comb through her long unruly hair. Not bad, really. A part of her missed the familiar weight of the thick leather strapping that had become like a second skin to her over the years, yet at the same time it was incredibly freeing not to be wearing it, like she was just a regular girl going about her day. Perhaps she would take Trouble for a hike along the coast today, watch him chase the ravens off the corpses that seemed to littler the road and get himself into gods knew what kind of mischief. That's what normal people did, wasn't it? People who didn't have the responsibility of saving the world every five seconds. She had just decided that she needed more carefree day like that when she reached the bottom of the stairs into the pub and suddenly missed her armor very, VERY much.

Three Templars stood near the door, scanning the room as if looking for someone. There were always a few Templars in the Hanged Man, mostly off duty recruits looking for a good time, but these were definitely not recruits. Their armor positively gleamed with a self-righteousness it must have taken years to polish up. Corff was at his usual station behind the bar and when he caught her eye he cast a very significant glance towards the Templars. Lyra nodded imperceptibly and eased her way over to the bar and sat down. But it was too late. The tallest of the three had spotted her and was leaning down to his comrade, the only woman in the group, and whispered in her ear. Her eyes came to rest on Lyra, as did the other mans, and the three started over towards the bar. When they were still a few tables away, Lyra noticed Corff surreptitiously reaching under the bar to where she knew he kept his 'barman's friend'; also known as 'a bloody great club'. She shook her head and he leaned back, his eyes flitting back and forth between her and the approaching Templars, eyeing them warily.

The woman waited until she was standing beside Lyra before speaking. The shorter of the two men had positioned himself between her hand the doorway, presumably to thwart any escape attempt, while the tall one stood behind her and a little to the left. She now recognized him as one of the men she had threatened in Anders' clinic the previous day. Well, that explained how they knew who they were looking for.

"Lyra Mahariel," the woman said, bringing Lyra's attention back to focus. It wasn't a question, more of a statement of fact. Lyra wondered idly if she had drawn the short straw or if they thought having a woman do the talking would be less likely to result in the threats of the previous day. The hilt of one of her daggers pressed reassuringly against her side as she turned to face the woman and she was suddenly very grateful that she had not neglected to strap on the blades before heading downstairs. Though drawing from the hip seemed more ungainly than her usual manner of sheathing the daggers on her back, there was some comfort in at least having weapons even if she was without armor. The old _Haren_ always used to say that the best armor was to not get hit. It seemed she would be relying on those words today.

"I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, though I would guess by your companions, that is, in fact, the point," she said at last, eyeing the two men whose hands hovered over their swords, ready to draw and fight at a moments notice.

"My name is not important," the woman said with an air of haughty indignance. Lyra was wondering if Templars were given special training on how to look down their noses at people or if there were specifically chosen for the ability.

Lyra smiled broadly at the other woman. "Oh, come now. You give yourself far too little credit."

The woman pretended not to hear. "You will come with us." Again, it was not a question but a statement of how things would be.

"Will I, now?" Lyra said, still smiling. She slipped off her bar stool and heard a metallic scraping as both men partially drew their swords. "Am I to assume I am under arrest? Seeing as how I am neither Apostate nor abomination I don't believe you have the authority to even attempt such an act."

The woman pulled herself up to her full height. She was taller than Lyra, but not by much. "We have the authority of Knight-Commander Meredith herself."

"Oh, goody for you. But that does not answer my question. Come now, we're all friends here right? I wouldn't want things to become unpleasant." A quick glance at Corff told her that he had indeed retrieved his barman's friend. Several of the patrons had been taking an intense interest in the conversation at the bar, and now, taking their cue from Corff, a few of them were already on their feet. As it was still fairly early, the inn was not yet full, but even so, the Templars were vastly outnumbered, and they were beginning to realize it. In the sudden silence, Lyra thought she heard Trouble growling low and menacing from some hidden corner of the room.

The two men had suddenly become fully aware of their situation and that any show of force would not only result in their bodily removal from the premises by an angry mob, but no Templar would ever again be allowed to set foot inside the pub. Lyra guessed it was the second prospect that was more troublesome for the men and they let their swords fall noisily back into their sheathes. Until then, the woman's attention had been so focused on Lyra that she had not noticed the current situation. Now seeing what they were up against, she sighed heavily. "No," she grunted resentfully. "The Knight-Commander asked to speak with you privately. Our orders were to escort you to the Gallows."

"Oh good," Lyra said brightly. "I've been meaning to head up there one of these days, but I was afraid I'd get lost." She nodded to the bartender then started for the door. "Shall we?" she called over her shoulder at the Templars who, confused by her sudden compliance, took a moment to collect themselves then chased after her. It was blatantly obvious through the entire exchange that she had been the one in control of the situation. Three Templars against one elf girl, and the elf would always win.

Trouble had emerged from his hiding place and trotted along at her heals as the group made their way towards the Gallows, occasionally showing Lyra's escorts his teeth so as to remind them of their place. She could feel their eyes upon her as they walked, studying her, as if she were a mystery to unravel. Well, she got that a lot, she reasoned. It wasn't that she tried to be mysterious. The truth was she didn't really care what people thought of her. Having to live inside her own head was bad enough, no need to try to get inside other peoples heads as well. In all honesty, she didn't think any of them would be worth the effort.

They passed through a massive stone archway that was the entrance to the Gallows. She knew slaves had built it. Men and women forced to build the very fortress that would imprison them. Far above, she could see the giant spikes that would anchor the wrought iron gate when it was lowered to block passage. She envisioned the heavy gate slamming down on hapless victims trapped beneath it and shuddered, quickening her pace, eager to be through the archway. But she couldn't help wondering how much blood stained those spikes. She had heard of what had happened here when the Blight first threatened Ferelden, how thousands of refugees had been trapped here, denied access to the city for fear of overcrowding. Hawke had been one of them.

The stone pillars surrounding the central courtyard were adorned with human figures in an affectation of horrific despair, and she could only imagine what it must have felt like. To be fleeing death, destruction, and the end of the world, only to land in a place so hostile and formidable that the fear of death seemed mere illusion in comparison. Lyra was sure many must have thought it would have been better to die as a Ferelden than to live here as a refugee.

She shook her head, as if to rid her mind of such dismal thoughts, and tried to focus on something else. An armorer had set up a stand near the entrance to the Gallows and she made a mental note to have a look at his wares before leaving. If she was ever allowed to leave. This place was definitely constructed with the sole purpose of restricting peoples movements and she could feel the hopelessness seeping into her bones, as though she were already a prisoner here. Broad stone steps lead up to another set of gates, presumably the entrance to the Circle itself. She had a hard time maintaining her confident air as she was led up the steps towards a doorway set into the rock. Of course they wouldn't open the main gate for a single visitor. That was reserved for herding in vast numbers of slaves.

"Damn this place," she muttered, her expression darkening. Trouble whined softly a few paces behind her.

"What was that?" the female Templar asked. She suddenly realized that no one had said a word since leaving the Hanged Man and she wondered if they had been given orders not to speak to her, or if the prevalent foreboding of the fortress where so many had been enslaved was affecting them as well. The very stones seemed to cry out in despair.

"I said, 'Man what a place,'" she lied. "You hardly need any guards at all with all these gates barring your way."

The woman grunted as a Templar who was standing guard over the door nodded to her, allowing them passage. "Your dog will remain here, along with any weapons you may be carrying," she said, eyeing the blades strapped to Lyra's hips.

"The dog goes where he wills," Lyra said, smiling faintly, then her expression hardened. "And the blades stay with me."

"I must insist that the dog-"

"Have it your way then," Lyra said in exasperation. "Trouble, stay!" she commanded. The mabari snuffed loudly and shook his massive head. Lyra turned back to the woman. "He says no."

"You do not want to make an issue of this Warden. There is no one to back you here." Lyra could see the other Templars in the small holding area, every one on their feet, tense. It was the Hanged Man all over again, only this time, the odds were not in her favor.

"That's Warden-Commander, if you please. And yes, I believe I do want to make an issue of it."

The two women now stood toe to toe, their faces inches apart, glaring at each other. "Do not test me..." the Templar snarled.

"That will do, Ser Audrey," a voice interrupted, and the Templar immediately backed off. A tall man with close cropped blonde hair had entered the room and all Templars present had snapped to attention at the sight of him. There was something very familiar about him, but Lyra couldn't quite place him. "I will take the Warden-Commander AND her mabari to see the Knight-Commander. Go see to your duties."

"Yes, Knight-Captain." Ser Audrey snapped a quick salute and exited the room, followed by the two Templars who had accompanied her.

"If you will come with me, my lady?" The Knight-Captain opened the door to the inner courtyard and waited for her to pass through it, bowing slightly. Such deference from a Templar took her by surprise. She guessed the Knight-Captain knew her but she could not think of where they had met. Certainly not in Kirkwall. Perhaps somewhere in Ferelden?

They entered a smaller courtyard and her escort led her up a set of stairs along one wall and through another doorway that led into a long hallway. The Captain did not speak but she could feel his eyes upon her. "I remember you, you know," he said at last.

"Oh?" he said, in mock surprise. "Did I threaten you in some way? If so, I'm sure I had legitimate cause, though I do apologize none the less."

He said nothing for a minute, then, "You spoke out against me when I tried to convince the Knight-Commander to perform the Right of Annulment on the Circle Tower in Ferelden."

Lyra stopped, could it be? "Cullen?" she said, now genuinely surprised. "Yes it is you, isn't it?" Cullen stopped, turning to face her and she moved a few steps closer. "I see you survived your ordeal, and found your way to Kirkwall, where all your desires for the mages can be realized. Moving up in the world too, I see." she said, nodding to his Captains insignia. "I take it your ideals are appreciated here, Knight-Captain?" She found herself slightly disgusted at the fact that attempting to murder over a hundred people could be an act to be lauded. It was ridiculous.

"It's not like that," Cullen said hurriedly as they set off again, Lyra studiously refusing to even look at him.

"Isn't it?" she said, waving a hand. Her expression hardened visibly. "I seem to recall you fighting quite vehemently for Knight-Commander Greagoir to approve the self same actions that are carried out here on a daily basis."

"Can you blame me? After what they did?"

She whirled on Cullen, backing him against the wall. "Yet you can blame them, after what you've done. You deny them the simplest freedoms and yet you are surprised when they turn on you. Your arrogance astounds me, Templar." She spat the last word like a curse. Perhaps it was due to the fact that she had known so many mages, Circle mages and apostates alike, that her tone carried such vehemence. Or perhaps it was simpler than that. Maybe she just hated the idea of ANY group of people being subjugated by another. Trouble seemed to take a similar stance and was growling at Cullen, his ears pinned back, hackles raised.

He raised his hands as if to ward off the tirade. Then sighed heavily. "I came here to try to make things better. To help," he tried to explain, but Lyra was still livid.

"You want to help?" she demanded, stabbing a finger into his chest. "Then tell me about Meredith."

Cullen seemed to stiffen, lowering his hands and staring at the opposite wall. "I can not speak ill of my commander."

She paused, watching him thoughtfully. "But you can't speak well of her either." She was suddenly very glad the hallway was deserted, realizing that such a display of aggression towards a ranking Templar would surely have her bound in chains within minutes. But perhaps Cullen had planned it that way, to give them a chance to speak. "There is a war coming Cullen," she said finally as they started off again. "You had better figure out whose side you're on."

Cullen seemed to be watching her again as they continued. "And where do you stand?"

Lyra grunted. "I am a Grey Warden. We don't take sides."

"Like you didn't take sides in Ferelden?" he said curiously.

"I needed the mages to help me stop the blight," she replied stiffly. "That is all."

"Am I supposed to believe that is the only reason you showed them mercy?" he said.

"It IS the only reason," she said firmly. Not exactly truthfull, but what was she was supposed to say? She had spared the mages within the tower because she bloody well felt like it?

"As you wish," he shrugged, stopping before an ornately carved door, obviously the entrance to the Knight-Commanders offices. "But for what its worth, whatever your reasons. I believe you always chose rightly." And with that he knocked three times on the door and stood rigidly staring at the opposite wall until the door was opened and Lyra was ushered inside.

What was that supposed to mean? Did he think she had been right not to kill them all? That couldn't be right. He was a Knight-Captain in a city well known for its oppression of mages. Whose side was he on anyway? She glanced back at Trouble, but he remained in the hallway, whether in avoidance of the Knight-Commander or in order to keep an eye on Cullen, there was no way of knowing. He was his own dog after all.

"Warden-Commander," a hard voice pulled her back from her thoughts and she turned towards the speaker. "Please, sit." The tall woman was gesturing to a chair opposite the desk, then she sat down behind it and folded her hands in front of her.

Lyra took a moment to look around the room. Shelves upon shelves of books lined the walls and she scanned a few titles. 'The First Blight', a complete volume by the look of it, 'History of the Chantry', she imagined every Templar had that one, 'Canticle of Maferath', never opened, and a very well worn copy of 'Death of a Templar'. She had read part of that book once. Morbid stuff, from what she could recall, but then what do you expect from a book called Death of anything? All in all, it wasn't what she had expected. Oh it was sufficiently stark and foreboding like the rest of the fortress, but where were all the egocentric self portraits? The mad scribblings plastered to the walls? Perhaps the woman wasn't as mad and power hungry as she had been led to believe.

"I love what you've done with the place," she said at last, lowering herself into the proffered chair. "Very severe and grim. Quite appropriate for the Gallows, don't you think? You can almost feel the desperation in the air." Meredith continued to study her, her hands clasped in front of her. She wasn't unattractive, perhaps a little hard around the edges but on the whole a handsome woman. Her wavy blond hair fell gently from beneath the spiked headdress she wore like some sort of crown. She seemed cool and collected and you could almost miss the glint in her eye if you weren't looking for it. But was it really madness, or just ambition?

When the Knight-Commander did not respond, Lyra continued. "I assume, then, that i am not in fact here on a social call? No, friendly banter? I do enjoy friendly banter, you know."

"Do you know who I am?" she said at last, flatly dismissing Lyra's comments.

"Well, lets see. You're sitting in the Knight-Commander's chair... Wearing her hat, and a very fine hat it is, too, by the way." Meredith made an exasperated gesture and Lyra decided it would be distinctly unwise to toy with the woman. She had no patience for games and would bide no foolishness. Kind of reminded her of Aveline in that way. "Of course I know who you are, Knight-Commander. Blind sewer rats know who you are. My question is how you know me?"

"Two of my Templars brought back some very interesting reports yesterday," she said calmly, holding up an official looking document as if to study it more closely, then focused her attention once more on the elf before her. "But beyond that, I make it my business to know all important persons arriving in my city."

"Your city is it?" Lyra said calmly.

Meredith stood up and began pacing behind the desk. She was indeed very tall, and Lyra wondered if the woman who could tower over her was trying to intimidate her, or if that was just her natural aura. "Since the viscounts death," she said, "the people of this city have been looking to me for leadership. So, yes, my city. But I wonder why you did not seek me out as soon as you arrived."

Lyra shrugged in an air of nonchalance. "Why should I? I am here on Grey Warden business. It concerns neither you nor the Circle of Magi. As i am sure your men have informed you," she smiled slightly.

Meredith rounded on her. "Those men you accosted were doing their duty to the city of Kirkwall. That man is an apostate."

Meredith seethed before her, her eyes flashing, but Lyra refused to be dragooned by this woman. She stood up in an attempt to face the woman, but realized she would need to stand on a chair to do it properly, and that would just be silly. Well, if she couldn't match her in stature she could certainly do it in intensity. "That MAN is a Grey Warden," she replied fiercely.

"My reports say that he left the Wardens when he came to Kirkwall."

"Blow your reports. He came to Kirkwall BY ORDER of the Grey Wardens." This simple conversation was rapidly turning into a shouting match, and Lyra was damned if she was going to lose. "More specifically the Warden-Commander." Meredith was now on her side of the desk, looking down on the elf. _I bet she can't help but look down her nose at people,_ she thought. _That's the only way she can see them. _She was glaring down at her, a tactic that usually broke lesser men. But Lyra was staring defiantly back up at her, seemingly undaunted.

Finally she backed away, returning to the other side of the desk, as if it were some sort of barrier of protection, though she needed none. "You have no proof that that is true," she said calmly as she sat down once more.

Lyra remained standing, keeping her guard up against another verbal attack. "And you have no proof that it is not."

The Knight-Commander sighed. "I had hoped for your support in the coming months. But I see now that you have already set yourself against me." She studied Lyra curiously. "Why is that?"

"I do not believe that any one person should wield as much power as you do," she said earnestly, studying Meredith for any reaction. "You command an army of Templars and have in reserve the forces of the City Guard who would probably follow your orders given that, as you say, the people of this city look to you for leadership. In my experience, people in positions such as yours use their power only to enslave and control."

Meredith smiled knowingly. "You are speaking of the mages."

"I am speaking of power, and its misuses." Their eyes were locked in a second battle of wills, this one silent Finally, Lyra broke eye contact and smiled. "But you really shouldn't concern yourself with me Knight-Commander," she said at last. "I am a Grey Warden and by our own law, I am forbidden from involving myself in political matters. I have no interest in openly opposing you. But neither will I support you. Perhaps it is best if we simply ignore each other until we go away."

"And when will that be, exactly?" Meredith asked, an unmistakeable edge to her voice.

Lyra smiled sweetly at the Knight-Commander and turned for the door. "The very instant my business here is concluded." She paused, looking back at the older woman. "One more thing before I go. As I told your men, Anders is under my command and as such, is also under my protection. Should you or any of your Templars attempt to forgo either of those considerations, you will find the matter is no longer about politics." There was a threatening edge to her voice, perhaps not the wisest move in a fortress full of Templar soldiers, but she needed to make her position clear. She needed to make sure Anders would be safe.

Knight-Commander Meredith said nothing, she simply nodded curtly and waved a hand towards the door, indicating that the meeting was over. Lyra took her meaning and exited the room. She found Cullen still standing at the ready on the other side of the door. Had he been waiting all this time? Had he heard the thinly veiled threat? If so, he made no indication. He nodded to her and lead her silently down the hallway, opposite the way they had arrived. Lyra was beginning to get nervous, perhaps she was being arrested after all. After taking another turn she could see an archway on her left leading through to the inner courtyard. She realized that the hallway must wrap around the length of it, and carry on that way several floors upwards as well. Cullen stopped here, just out of sight of the guarded entrance.

"There are many unique sights here in the Circle," he said thoughtfully, staring off into nothingness. "Oddities beyond description." Lyra wondered if he had suddenly gone mad and was talking to himself. "The armoury contains some very interesting items. Of course, it would not do for you to be seen wandering about the fortress unescorted. But sometimes that is the only way to find what you seek, wouldn't you agree?" His eyes locked with hers and he held her gaze for a long moment before he turned towards a set of stairs across the hall from the courtyard. "Well, I'm sure you can find your way from here. I have duties to attend to." He turned and began walking in the opposite direction, but stopped suddenly as if remembering something. "Oh, and Lyra? You were right about one thing. There is a war coming and I have chosen my side. I know you have your own reasons for doing what you do, but don't pretend that it is not personal. That would be a disservice to all we have lost."

Lyra was staring down the stairway he had seemed to be indicating. She wanted to ask him what he meant, but by the time she turned back, he was already rounding the corner at the end of the hall and had disappeared from view. _'It would not do for you to be seen wandering about the fortress unescorted...', _she pondered._ I guess I'd best not be seen then._ And she melted into the shadows, Trouble mimicking her movements. She had always been very good at not being seen. She had picked up a few tricks over the years as well. The Antivan Crow who had travelled with her, Zevran, had taught her a thing or two about the ways of the assassin. To see everything without being seen. A useful skill for anyone up to no good. But then, she had always found 'no good' to be a relative term.

As she slipped noiselessly down the stairs she thought about the assassin whose life she had spared, and had travelled with her from then on. She hadn't seen him since he had disappeared shortly before she had been assigned to Vigil's Keep. She had asked after him from time to time, in Denerim, and a few other towns along the northern border. But either he wasn't keeping up with his old contacts, or he had instructed them to tell no one of his whereabouts. Not even her? That didn't seem likely. They had been... close, once. But perhaps that meant less to him than she had thought. Oh well. She supposed Zevran Aranni had taught her more than one lesson when he left.

She was creeping down a dark passage, lit only by the daylight filtering down from the stairwell at the one end, and the torches that lined the walls. Eventually, the hallway opened up into a large cavern type room supported by stone pillars and arches. The torches that lit the room shed enough light to see by, but also provided ample shadows where she could hide and take in her surroundings. Trouble was smart enough to slink into a darkened corner and stay hidden until he was needed. Smarter than most people she knew.

She seemed to be alone in the room, though she could see the light of a forge in a far corner, and could hear the hissing of hot metal in water as the blacksmith cooled whatever item he was working on. She was surprised to see that the man working over the forge was a dwarf. She had yet to see any other races in the Gallows, but she suspected there must be a few elven mages within the circle itself. Dwarves, however, were not affected by lyrium and therefore could not be mages or Templars. But she supposed the Knight-Commander demanded the best armor and weapons for her private army, and the best was almost always dwarven made.

This seemed to be some kind of storage area. Surplus weapons and armor were on stands lining the walls, some in need of repair, others at the ready. Crates of gods knew what were around but she took little notice of them other than possible hiding places. There were a few practice dummy's set up as well but she guessed these were more for testing the weaponry and armor than any kind of serious training. The ceiling was too low, for one thing, and there was hardly room between the supporting pillars to get a good swing without nicking the blade on the stone. As Lyra edged closer, she could hear the dwarf muttering to himself as he worked, though she couldn't make out the words. She listened to the hammering, hissing, and muttering for what seemed like hours. Few people came through the cavern and she guessed most of the interesting work took place up top.

She had a pretty good view of the forge and workbench from where she crouched behind some crates, but she couldn't imagine what manner of oddities Cullen had been talking about. She saw nothing particularly impressive. A few nice pieces of armor perhaps, but nothing that really warranted her attention. The problem was she couldn't get a closer look at the forge. Not with the smith standing right there. She would just have to wait for him to leave and who knew how long that would take. It seemed she had already been there an eternity and she was sure the guards at the outer gate were wondering why she had not yet left. She was sure there would be search parties sent out at any minute and she was just about to take her leave when the hammering ceased. The dwarf, seemingly satisfied with his work, hung the still dripping breastplate on a rack, and ambled off towards a door at the far end of the room. She had no idea how much time she would have before the smith returned so she hastened over to the forge, scanning the workbench, anvils and tanning racks, but there was nothing odd about any of it. She was just turning to go when something caught her eye. Reflected firelight had flashed red off something on the stone cobbles, Perhaps it was simply some slag from the forge but she doubted it, the flash had been too bright, and yet tiny. Then she saw it. A shard, hardly larger than a sliver, like from cut crystal or broken glass, had fallen from the workbench. There was nothing unusual about that other than it should have been as cold as the stone on which it lay, but when she touched it, she felt an unnatural warmth, and glowed with a reddish light. She imagined it was just from the firelight but something made her hesitate.

There were noises on the other side of the door, voices and footsteps. She hastily picked up the shard, dropping it into the leather pouch she wore around her neck and disappeared into the shadows once more just as the door opened and the dwarf returned, followed by a Templar who had to duck to avoid hitting his head on the stone arches.

"I'm telling you, it's no good," the dwarf was saying.

"The Knight-Commander has no complaints," she heard the other man say.

"But doesn't she realize how wrong that damn thing is? I mean, seriously-"

"Gavik, listen to me. You do good work. The Knight-Commander's happy, I don't see what's the problem."

"The problem is she doesn't know what she's dealing with..." The pair had been walking swiftly and had already reached the far corridor. Their voices trailed away as they passed through the hallway and up the stairs towards the courtyard and she could hear no more. She waited behind the crates a few seconds more before deciding to take her chances and followed the two men up the stairs and back into daylight.


	10. Chapter 10

**Authors Note: **_My sincerest apologies for the wait. I have been focusing on my novel over the past few months and haven't had a chance to get back to my fanfic till now. Hope you enjoy. And as always, reviews welcome :)_

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><p>Welcome to Kirkwall<p>

Chapter 10: The Spirits Within and the Demons Without

Lyra was surprised that she had not been accosted as soon as she entered the courtyard. Then she saw Cullen standing at the Guardpost and realized he had probably arranged this. He ushered her through the small chamber and out onto the high steps looking over the Gallows. He hadn't spoken another word to her. In fact, he had barely looked at her, and despite the many questions she had for him, she remained equally silent. If he really was trying to help the mages, perhaps even to undermine Meredith's authority, she wasn't going to do anything to jeopardize his position.

It was approaching mid-day and as she ambled down the stone steps, Trouble close at her heels, her stomach was reminding her that she had missed breakfast. She ignored the rumbling, thinking instead about the shard, resting safely in the leather pouch around her neck. She thought she could feel the warmth of it even now, but she was probably imagining it. Just as she was about to exit the Gallows, and head back to Lowtown, she remembered that she was still in need of armour. She mentally kicked herself for not simply nicking something from the underground workshop, but then she supposed someone might miss whatever she took, and Templars tended to be very tenacious in their investigations.

She paused at the armour stand just beside the main gates, and was looking over a piece of female armour that must have been a breastplate, emphasis on breast, for that's all this thing would cover. Even the Dalish wore more than this, and they were known for wearing as light of armour as possible, better for staying silent and unseen. They wore heavier armour when going into battle, but for a hunter, when the most dangerous thing they would likely encounter would be a bear or wolf, predators who could be easily avoided by any Dalish worthy of the name, there was no need for metal armour that could clink or scrape at inopportune moments. A familiar voice was calling her name, but she was so lost in thought that she hardly noticed.

"Lyra?" She turned around to see Hawke walking up to her followed closely by Fenris, the scowl seemingly permanently etched on his angular face. He was wearing his usual spiked armour and black leggings, the massive sword strapped to his back. Hawke was in his splint-mail again and, though not as regal as the black plate, he was still quite striking. Perhaps it was just him. "What are you doing here?" he said, grinning, obviously pleased to see her. Fenris, on the other hand, was glaring at the back of Hawke's head, studiously refusing to look at Lyra. Trouble made a low growl at his approach and for a split second she thought she heard Fenris growl back. _Making friends? Or establishing dominance..._

"Shopping," she said simply, turning back towards the shop and letting Fenris and Trouble sort themselves out. "I need new armour. That ogre really did a number on my old set."

"I think the mercenaries probably had a lot to do with it," Fenris snarled, acknowledging her presence but little else.

She cast an icy glance in his direction, which he could certainly feel, even if he didn't see it. "Indeed," she said coldly. "But, as I was hunting the ogre and those idiots just happened to get in the way, I blame the ogre." She was examining other pieces and held up another equally skimpy outfit. It seemed that armour in Kirkwall was more for show than actual practicality, and it certainly did show a lot. "Would you look at this? How could anyone reasonably describe this as armour? Looks more like glorified underclothes."

Hawke eyed what appeared to be a metal brazier, then gave Lyra a quick look. "I don't know," he said thoughtfully, taking it from her and holding it up to her chest. "I think you'd look good in it."

Lyra gave and exasperated sigh and snatched it back from him. "Why am I not surprised? You probably think I'd look good in anything."

Hawke shrugged and leaned against a nearby pillar. Probably his attempt at looking dashing. She had to admit, he was pretty good at it. "Actually, I think you'd probably look good in nothing," he said casually, and Fenris shot him a glance that could have killed lesser men.

Lyra smirked, shaking her head at him. "You really do have no shame, do you?"

Hawke shrugged and smiled again. "I try not to. I find it interferes with my carefree nature."

"It probably would at that," she said chuckling to herself. Then she dropped the piece she was looking at and turned to him, as if suddenly noticing something. "Hawke?" she said curiously. "Why do you have a Qunari blade on your back?"

"What, this?" he said, pulling the sword out and looking at it. "How did you know it was qunari?"

"I travelled with a qunari," she said dismissively. "But why do you have one? Oh gods, did Sten loose his sword AGAIN?"

"What are you talking about?" Hawke said. "There's a qunari in Hightown square looking for swords of their fallen from when they tried to take the city. But it's not a sten."

"No," she shrugged. "I wouldn't guess so. But I suppose their souls should return to Par Vollen."

"How do you know about that?" Fenris demanded, looking directly at her for the first time.

"I told you. I travelled with a Sten. He couldn't go home till he found his sword. He called it Asala, his soul. He called me _kadan_. It means friend, doesn't it?"

"_Kadan_?" he said incredulously. "He said that?"

"Oh for gods sake. Yes!" she threw up her hands in exasperation. "I think he once compared me to a _Qunoran Vehl_, too. It means hero or something similar. Why?"

Fenris seemed stunned into silence. When he finally found his voice, it was shaky and uncertain. "The sten who travelled with you... The one who helped you stop the Blight... After the qunari attack, after Hawke killed the Arishok..."

"Spit it out, man." Lyra was tempted to grab him by the shoulders and shake some sense into him, but given his spiked shoulder guards it probably wasn't a good idea.

"He..." Fenris tried again. "He became the new Arishok. The leader of all qunari know you as 'friend'. _Kadan, Qunoran Vehl_... The qunari do not use these words lightly."

"Huh," Hawke grunted. He had been silent until now, listening to the conversation with bemused interest. "Even the qunari think you're a hero."

"Oh, come off it," she shook her head. "Look, I told you both. I'm no hero. No matter what anyone thinks."

"Oh, sure. You just gained the respect of everyone IN THE WORLD."

"Shut up, Hawke." Lyra stormed off, heading towards Hightown in the hopes of finding a shop that sold armour that might actually protect the wearer.

"Lyra, wait," Hawke called out, jogging to catch up with her. Fenris held back, however. Studying the small elf girl with renewed interest. Living in the Tevinter Imperium, he had encountered qunari before and had learned much of their culture and the _qunlat_, the qunari language. But he had never before heard of a qunari calling an outsider _kadan_. Hawke had been referred to as _basalit-an_, an outsider worthy of respect, but nothing more personal than that. Friend was a loose translation of _kadan_, he knew. It's literal translation was 'where the heart lies'. Had this sten actually cared about Lyra? It was difficult to fathom. The stoic giants that populated Seheron were not know for their compassionate natures. But he had to admit, there was something about the elf that made it hard to turn away from her.

Fenris found himself admiring her more and more. It bothered him. Even what she was wearing. The light leather trousers, billowing white tunic. It made her look like a pirate, reminding him of Isabella. Although, where Isabella's sexuality was all out in the open, Lyra's beauty was more subtle. It was in the way she tossed her hair over her shoulders, the way she moved, like water, the valaslin sliding over her soft skin... No, wait, stop right there. He was NOT attracted to her. She was stubborn, arrogant and a general pain in the ass. There was no way he could ever be interested in her as anything more than an annoyance. Then why was he still staring at her?

He walked over to where Hawke and Lyra were, mentally kicking himself all the way, telling himself he didn't care one whit for the girl, and wondering at the same time how big of a lie it really was. Lyra seemed to have forgiven Hawke for whatever she was angry about but Hawke's expression hat turned troubled, and slightly nervous.

"I'm, uh, glad I got a chance to talk to you, actually," Hawke was saying as they started off again through the Hightown markets.

"Really?" she said with raised eyebrows. "You don't seem very happy about it."

"It's about Merrill."

Lyra frowned. "Oh look. Now I'm not happy about it either."

"I don't know what happened between you," Hawke said, "but she's locked herself up in her house with that mirror. Hasn't come out since you spoke and won't talk to anyone."

Having heard the conversation Lyra had had with the Keeper the previous day, Fenris could guess why the two were no longer on friendly terms, but stayed silent. It wasn't his place to say anything.

Lyra sighed heavily. "She's you're girlfriend. You sort her out." Fenris smirked, involuntarily, but when Lyra glanced at him he pretended to be very interested in a broadsword on one of the tables at a weapons shop.

"She's not my—," Hawke started but gave up when he saw the amused expression on her face. "Look she won't even talk to me. I need you to go talk to her."

"And why in Thedas would I want to do that?"

"You're the closest thing she has to family. Surely you can talk some sense into her. Please, Lyra. We're going up to Sundermount tomorrow. She needed to see the Keeper about something. Maybe you could come with us."

Lyra held up her hands. "Nope. No way. Deal's off. I've said my piece to all of them and I'll have no more of it."

"Why? What exactly happened?" Hawke asked, clearly confused at her reaction. "This about the mirror isn't it?"

She instantly turned away from him. "Not looking to talk on that topic."

"Fine. But you should know, she said she needed to see the Keeper about getting a tool to complete the mirror."

Lyra stopped, and cursed under her breath. "The _arulin'holm_," Lyra muttered. Then she sighed. "All right, fine," she said finally. I'll go with you. Someone has to put an end to this madness."

Hawke breathed a sigh bordering on relief. "Thanks," he said smiling again, then faltered. "Ah, and if you could perhaps not mention to her that this was my idea? I think it would be best for everyone..."

"If you suffered a horrific death at the hands of an enraged elf?" she smiled sweetly at him. "Yes, I DO think that would be best for everyone."

Hawke grinned again. "Pushing my luck, am I?"

"Just a bit." Lyra shook her head at him and headed towards the armourers

"Hey, Hawke," Fenris said when she was out of earshot. "Don't you still have some of that good light armour we picked up?" Hawke nodded, looking at Fenris with an odd expression. "Why don't you just give it do her?" Fenris said, ignoring the bemused grin. "Its not like you're going to need it, and hers was ripped to shreds."

"Why Fenris, I had no idea you cared," Hawke said, smiling knowingly at the elf.

"It's not like that. I just don't think good armour should go to waste.," Fenris growled angrily, refusing to look the larger man in the eye.

"Uh-huh. And I suppose the a beautiful young lass who would look absolutely stunning in that River Dane armour, has nothing to do with it?"

"She's not that beautiful," Fenris muttered. Hawke was still grinning that annoyingly smug grin of his. "Just forget I said anything."

Hawke laughed and shook his head, putting an arm around the smaller mans shoulders which was quickly shrugged off. "The reason I don't just give her armour is because firstly, she would never accept it and secondly... well, that's it really. She would never accept it."

"You're probably right," Fenris muttered.

"Come on, lets go find this qunari."

After looking through a few of the shops, Lyra had decided it was pointless to try and find any decent armour in this city. She supposed the few nobles in Kirkwall who could afford good armour simply had no need of it for anything more than decoration. They had the City Guards to protect them from any serious trouble. _Cities make you soft_, she decided. She would probably have more luck in the poorer districts. Not the same quality of material, perhaps, but infinitely better in terms of protection. She might even be better off simply getting her old leathers repaired. Hawke and Fenris had wandered off and so she headed back to Lowtown and the Hanged Man alone, her thoughts drifting once again to the shard she had found.

By the time she got back to the inn, her shoulder was throbbing again and she drained the last of the healing potion from the small bottle Anders had given her. Then she stared at the clear glass phial thoughtfully. She rinsed out the bottle and removed the leather pouch from around her neck. The only thing it contained, other than the shard was a tiny wooden carving of a running deer. She placed it carefully on the nightstand, beside the flute Fenarel had given her the day before. Then she removed the shard and dropped it into the bottle. It made a tinkling sound that seemed to go on for longer than it should have, unnaturally loud. She stared at it a minute, then put the stopper back on the bottle and tucked it into her pack. Then she went downstairs for something to eat.

She was sitting at a table staring at the shard over a half eaten sandwich Corff had given her. She was so lost in thought, she didn't notice when Anders burst in, looking wildly around the room until he spotted her.

"Lyra!" he said, rushing over to her and sliding into a chair opposite her. "Are you all right?"

"Hmm? Oh yeah, fine... fine..." She glanced up at him briefly then went back to the shard.

"Some friends said you got hauled off by Templars. I thought you'd been arrested." Lyra nodded vaguely. "Lyra look at me!" He stood up, leaning over the table and grabbing her shoulders.

"Ow," she said wincing, and he let go. She seemed to finally notice Anders for the first time. "Oh, hey, Anders. Yeah, Meredith wanted to talk to me, but its nothing. I'm fine. You're fine. Everything's fine."

Anders breathed a heavy sigh of relief. "You had me worried. Sorry about the shoulder."

She dismissed his concern with a wave of her hand and he sat down again. "Listen, I think I know what I'm looking for here, Varric was telling me.."

He held up a hand, interrupting her. "Lyra wait. I wanted to apologize for last night."

"Stop right there," she said. "Let me say this first." She sighed as if what she was about to say was difficult for her. "You were always there for me, Anders. Even when you didn't want to be. You always had my back, maybe more than I deserved. But I wanted to thank you for that."

Anders sat back, clearly stunned. Then the lines of concern reappeared around his eyes. "Are you dying?"

"What? No! Of course not. Well, no more than usual, I suppose."

"Am I dying?" he continued.

"No that I know of..."

He slapped his hands down on the table and demanded, "Then who are you and what have you done with the real Lyra Mahariel?" A broad grin had spread across his handsome, if weathered features.

"Hey now," she admonished. "I'm allowed to be stupid and sentimental once in a while."

"Sure," he shrugged. "You're like a werewolf. Once a month you turn into a real girl. Or was that the other way around?"

She punched his arm playfully. "Oh shut up. Do you want to hear this or not?"

He sat back rubbing his arm. "All right, all right." He was smiling at her again. "Just like old times. Hatching plots and planning strategies, eh?"

She smiled back. "Just like old times." She held up the bottle containing the shard for him to look at, and he took it curiously. "What do you make of this?"

"I don't know," he said slowly, turning the glass over in his hand, listening to the oddly musical notes. "It feels strange."

Lyra nodded in agreement. "I was talking to Varric and he told me about how he and Hawke went down into the Deep Roads. They found that idol, remember?"

"I remember... I went with them when they found Bartrand. I've never seen anything like it. Stark raving mad, he was. I managed to give him a few moments of sanity before the end."

"Do you remember him saying anything about singing?"

Anders seemed to be thinking, then he said, "Yeah, he said the idol sang to him. He forced his men to drink a lyrium potion so they could hear it too. I doubt it worked though, they all went mad."

Lyra nodded again. "That's what Varric said. Then I remembered Justice saying the lyrium in this world sang to him, you remember? And that started me thinking about the Fade, and how the old gods wandered the Fade as they slept."

Anders stopped her. "Listen Lyra, there's something I have to tell you about Justice."

Lyra looked at him excitedly. "You know where he is? I'm sure he could help with this. Maybe give us a few more answers."

"The thing is..."

"Lyra Mahariel, in MY bar!" Lyra turned to see a very familiar dark skinned woman approaching the table, a serpents smile on her face.

"Isabella?" Lyra was hardly surprised to see her, seeing as how she had already seen her handiwork in the bar-top. But she had been sure the pirate queen would be on her ship sailing the high seas. "I didn't know the Hanged Man was yours." She looked well. She had her hair tied back with a bandana, the gold bangle earrings setting off her tanned skin and dark mysterious eyes. She wore a tunic that fit so tight it looked like the buttons were about to pop off and thigh high boots that Lyra had no doubt concealed no less than two daggers each.

Isabella laughed and gave her a knowing smile. "I've had many hanged men, my dear." She lowered herself onto a chair next to Lyra. "Now, you must tell me everything. I haven't seen you in AGES! Don't leave anything out. I want all the sordid details."

"Sordid details?" Lyra asked, thoroughly confused.

"You and Zevran, silly. You can't tell me the two of you didn't hook up. I know he fancied you." The pirate said winking seductively at her.

Lyra sighed. "That was a long time ago, Isabella. And Zevran fancied everyone."

"Don't tell me that little rat left you." Isabella looked shocked. Then said conspiratorially, "I always knew he was a bastard. Didn't I tell you?"

Lyra laughed. "I believe your exact words were 'He's a charmer'..."

"Same thing, in my books," she shrugged. "Ahh, well. I bet he brought out your wild side, though, am I right?"

"I don't have a wild side."

"Like hell you don't," Isabella threw back her head and laughed. "Try that one on someone who doesn't know the truth. Remember that one night below decks? You me Zevran and that cute little orlesian girl..."

"Isabella?!" Lyra could feel her cheeks getting hot and glanced nervously at Anders who was grinning, clearly enjoying the conversation.

"Oh, doesn't Anders know of your wild and reckless past? I bet he and Justice would LOVE to get to know THAT side of you. Wouldn't you boys?"

Lyra's face instantly grew serious as she stared across the table at the mage. "Anders and Justice?"

"Anders," Isabella chided. "Don't tell me you haven't introduced your little house guest..." Her gaze flitted back and forth between elf and mage, neither of whom were taking any notice of her. "Oh, have I said something I shouldn't have?"

"Lyra, I was going to tell you..." Anders said, his tone pleading for understanding.

Isabella got up. "I think that's my cue. Find me later, sweetie, we'll have a drink and catch up." She glanced at the two of them again, their eyes locked on one another. "Much later, perhaps."

Anders was the first to look away, and when Isabella was gone, he muttered, "I'm not possessed."

Lyra raised an eyebrow. "You kind of are, Anders."

"It's not like that, though," he was pleading again. "Nathaniel even said that if the spirit wasn't taking control of the host, then it wasn't an abomination. Look, I offered to let Justice in. It was the only way we could survive. Kirstoff's body was... well... and I certainly needed help."

"I'm not judging you, Anders," Lyra said quietly.

"You're not?" he said incredulously.

"No, I'm not," she said simply. "I knew Justice, remember? I also remember a time when you felt incapable of taking action against the Templars. Now you're an honest-to-god revolutionary."

Anders sighed. "He made me see that injustices could not be tolerated... But it didn't work," he said, his eyes expressing an infinite sadness. "He's not the same anymore. He's not Justice. Because of my hatred he has become a force of vengeance."

"Justice has never had much room for compassion, or mercy."

"You don't understand. Hawke and I... There was a young girl who escaped from the circle. We were trying to help her but this right bastard of a Templar got to her first. Ser Alrik." He spat the name as if it were a curse. "He had petitioned the chantry to have all mages made tranquil," he said with disgust.

Lyra remembered a conversation they had once had about being made tranquil. He said it was like being beheaded, having all your emotion stripped away. You were still alive, but you could never again feel alive. He said that it was the only thing he ever truly feared. "What happened?" she asked, equally disgusted that anyone would force that on anyone, let alone on all the mages in Thedas.

"I..."he hesitated. "Justice, I mean, killed him."

"Good then. Big bad Templar out of the way," she said, trying to lighten his desperate mood.

"But the girl," he moaned. "I almost killed her too."

"But you didn't."

"Only because Hawke was there to stop me. I can barely control it anymore."

"Well, thank the gods for Hawke, then."

"You don't understand," he wailed. "You called me a revolutionary, but how could I ever help anyone like this?"

"I don't understand," Lyra said slowly. She could feel her temper rising. "Don't understand what? To feel like the whole world bleeding and your running around with one lousy bandage wondering who to plaster it on?" Her tone was rising along with her temper and she was on the verge of shouting. "And gods help you if you ever stop to rest, because every time you close your eyes you see the faces of all the people you COULDN'T save, asking you why."

Anders was taken aback, and sat in silence for a minute as Corff came over and set a couple of drinks on the table in front of them, studiously trying to ignore the conversation that had now capture the interest of a few of the nearby patrons. She suddenly realized she was on her feet, and glanced around nervously only to see that Hawke and Fenris were at a table not far away. Fenris was watching her, his usual disapproving scowl replaced by a curious expression she could not read. She hadn't noticed them come in and wondered how much Fenris had heard of the conversation. At her glance, however, Fenris quickly averted his gaze and went back to ignoring her.

"Are you talking about me? Or you?" Anders said, grinning slightly as she sat back down.

She returned the grin ruefully. "I'm talking about impossible odds and hopeless causes. And how neither of us can turn our backs."

Anders reached for his mug and Lyra did the same. "I'll drink to that," he said, and they raised their glasses.


	11. Chapter 11

**Authors Note:**_This chapter came a little harder for me, it includes a quest from the actual game and I got so hung up on getting the game content right that I forgot about my story. So after a full rewrite, here it is. Not exactly to script, but definitely better for it. Reviews appreciated. :)_

Update: _This update extends the chapter what it was originally meant to be. I had cut it off early for reasons of length but the chapter works better with the true ending.  
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><p>Welcome to Kirkwall<p>

Chapter 11: A Promise Kept and a Promise Broken

Lyra had been talking to Anders in the Hanged Man half the night and when the new day dawned, she was considerably less than enthusiastic about it. The sun seemed unnaturally bright, and ungodly cheerful for the loathsome task she was now faced with. She wasn't sure which was worse. Facing Merrill again, knowing what she had done, and was planning to do, or returning to the Dalish clan after what had been said. What would the Keeper think of her if she thought she was trying to help Merrill rebuild the mirror? Wait a minute. What did she care what the Keeper thought? Keeper Marethari had been the one who had turned her away all those years ago. And instead of keeping Merrill from even attempting to repair the mirror, she had just let it happen. No, she decided, she was far beyond caring what the Keeper or any of them thought of her, and if Marethari wasn't going to put a stop to Merrill's foolishness, then she would.

She hadn't told Merrill what had really happened the last time she had seen Tamlen; hadn't been able to. But that was before she knew what Merrill was doing. She still wasn't sure if she wanted her childhood friend to know the truth, but if they were going to the Dalish camp, it would almost certainly come up. There was no way around it now. She had promised to try to talk to Merrill and that was what she was going to do, but if Hawke thought she was going to apologize to her, he had another thing coming. But first, she needed a good meal.

"What the hell?" She had opened the door of her room to find a misshapen package waiting for her, wrapped in light canvas and tied with bailing twine. She glanced up and down the hallway looking for whoever had left the bundle. It was a ridiculous action, of course. The gods only knew how long it had been laying there, but considering the neighbourhood she was in, and the type of people she regularly encountered, it couldn't have been that long, or someone would have certainly made off with it.

The package was considerably lighter than she had expected and she took it over to the bed to open it. Her mabari appeared from beneath the bed to investigate in case there was anything dangerous within the canvas wrapping and while he gave the package a thorough sniffing, she wondered idly how he had managed to get under the bed in the first place. Trouble looked up at her curiously, waiting for her to open the bundle as if he expected it might be something for him. She smiled and shook her head, then took one of her daggers and sliced through the string that bound the canvas. Her eyes widened at the sight of the armour. It wasn't new by any means, but had been well cared for. The leather jerkin had been well oiled and the metal chest piece, though marred, shone in the morning sunlight.

Unthinking, she pulled the cloth undershirt over her head then the leather vest with its metal plating over her chest and hips. The armour had originally been made for a man, probably quite a bit taller and more muscular than she, but someone had tailored the set and it fit her like a glove. It was surprisingly light and cool as well, meaning she wouldn't die in the heat of the Kirkwall sun. She stood in front of the mirror for a minute or so, admiring the way the leathers moved, then stopped. Who would have left a perfectly good, and probably expensive set of armour outside her door, much less tailored it to fit her? She went to the door, once again glancing up and down the hallway, but there was still no one in sight. Shrugging her shoulders she went back inside the room and strapped on her daggers. She glanced at her bow, sitting in the corner of the room and decided she would head into the forests around Sundermount and perhaps go hunting. Then she could meet up with Hawke and Merrill on the way to the Dalish camp.

The prospect of returning to the clan still gave her no great joy, but there was no help for it now. She picked up her bow and quiver and headed down the short flight of stairs to the tavern. It was practically empty, which she had come to expect, and she ate her breakfast silently and alone, then headed out toward the city gates.

Fenris was not waiting for her this time and she found she couldn't decide if she was glad of it, or disappointed. Not that she liked the moody elf. He was arrogant, sour and clearly didn't think any more of her than she did of him. So why did she keep glancing at the people in the streets looking for a face she recognized beneath a shock of white hair? She mentally kicked herself as she passed through the city gates and out into the forests, sternly reminding herself that she didn't care one whit for the elf and definitely did not miss his company.

She didn't end up doing much hunting in the forest. She spotted some sign here and there and followed the fresh trail of a deer halfheartedly before giving it up and returning closer to the trail so she could watch for Merrill and Hawke. She was sitting in one of the uppermost branches of an old oak tree when she first spotted the pair. She slipped easily to the ground, careful not to make a sound. It wouldn't do for Merrill to know she had been watching for them. Her bow in hand, she crept through the trees and stepped out onto the trail a little ways ahead of the pair.

She turned to them as if spotting them for the first time, and waved a hand. She couldn't read Merrill's expression upon seeing her. It was somewhere between nervous, angry and disappointed. Hawke, on the other hand, was giving her a rather relieved grin. "Mind if I join you?" she said, walking up to them and replacing the bow on her back.

"Lyra?" Merrill said cautiously, glancing at Hawke as if she instantly knew something was up. "What are you doing..."

Lyra waved off her concern. "I was just out hunting when I saw you."

"Well, then. Don't let us keep you from your prey," Merrill said stiffly, and for an instant Lyra wondered what prey she was referring to.

She resumed her carefree attitude and said, "There isn't much game to be had around here. I thought I might join you two."

"Well actually..."

"Or was this supposed to be a date?" Lyra said quickly. "I wouldn't want to interrupt any alone time you two lovebirds had planned.

Merrill's face reddened perceptibly and Lyra could see Hawke grinning behind her back. "We're not..." Merrill began then seeing Lyra's grin threw up her hands in frustration. "Fine. You can come. We're going to see the Keeper." There was an edge to her voice, and Lyra wondered if she knew what had happened the last time she had visited the camp.

"Excellent! I need a new bow. These Kirkwall weapon smiths don't know a thing about iron bark."

Merril harrumphed and set off down the trail, leaving Hawke and Lyra to watch her for a second before starting after her.

"That's some pretty nice armour you've got on," Hawke said quietly. "Where'd you get it?"

"It was left outside my door this morning," Lyra shrugged. "I don't know who... Wait, did you leave this for me?"

"Not I," Hawke said. There was a mischievous grin on his face as if he knew something she didn't, and it was hard for her to decide whether to believe him or not.

"But you know who did."

"I'll never tell," he said smugly.

Lyra had the irresistible urge to slap that stupid grin off his face, but just then Merrill called out. "I would like to get there while there's still daylight, if it's all the same to you two." Hawke gave her a final grin and they caught up to the smaller elf.

They walked for some time in silence, before Merrill spoke again. "I'm not changing my mind."

"Did I say anything?" Lyra said, trying to look as innocent as possible.

"You don't have to. You are thinking very loudly. I can tell."

Lyra raised her eyebrows. "You can tell what I am thinking? That's quite the trick. Or did the demon do that for you too?" She hadn't intended for it to sound as harsh as it did and Merrill turned on her.

"Stop it, Lyra. Just stop it," she snapped. "You don't know anything about it and I'm not changing my mind."

"Good then," Lyra shrugged, still trying to sound casual. "Make a stand and stick with it. That's what I always say."

"You've never said that," Merrill muttered.

"Well, I've thought it."

"Duncan never should have destroyed the mirror in the first place. The things that mirror could teach us about our people, our history..." Merrill sighed and headed up the path once more, a determined look on her round face. "We can't just ignore it. It would be like choosing to forget."

Lyra quickly fell in step. "You're right. Our lore should be preserved."

"And that's not going to work, either."

"What?"

"Agreeing with me all the time even though I know you don't approve."

"What's not to approve of?" Lyra said, forcing a smile to her lips. "It's the Keeper's duty to preserve Dalish Lore, and add to it. Funny how she doesn't want the mirror repaired, isn't it?"

"Lyra?"

"Hmmm?"

"Shut up."

They walked the rest of the way in silence. Hawke seemed to be hanging back in case there was an explosion from all the tension between the two women. Fenarel didn't try to stop them again as he had the first time she visited the camp, but Lyra knew that even though the scouts weren't visible, they were definitely there. She could feel the eyes of her clansmen upon her when she entered and though no one was openly hostile towards her, she knew they were all thinking the same thing. She decided it would be best not to say anything. This was Merrill's show after all. She was just along for the ride.

It wasn't to be however, for as soon as The Keeper had greeted Merril, she turned to Lyra. "After the words that were said the last time we spoke, I did not expect to see you back so soon, da'len."

"You and me both," she muttered.

If Marethari heard her, she took no notice. "I hope you and Merrill have decided to return to us at last?"

Lyra couldn't believe the Keeper was still trying to pretend she wanted her there. She was the one who sent her away in the first place.

But before she could say anything, Merrill spoke for her. "No, Keeper. I am here for the _arulin'holm."_

Marethari's face fell, and her expression became stern. Lyra remembered this face. She had seen it often enough whenever she and Tamlen had gotten themselves into trouble, which was rather a lot come to think of it. "You still wish to repair the _eluvian."_

"Yes," Merrill said firmly, and Lyra noticed how closely Hawke stood to Merrill when she made her request. It was almost as if Hawke was trying to shield Merrill from the Keepers glare. They could deny it all they liked but there was a lot more between them than they would ever admit. "You don't have to approve. I am in invoking _vir sulevanan_. I will do whatever you ask of me."

"Well, I'm glad to know I can still disapprove," Marethari said, folding her arms across her chest and glaring at Merrill.

Lyra was only half listening to the conversation now. By invoking the right, Marethari would have to give her the ancient carving tool, as long as Merrill could complete the task set for her. The relics of the Dalish belonged to all the people, so any in the clan could posses them for a time. This particular relic was an ancient carving blade that had been carried by her clan since a time before Arlathan, passed down through countless generations. Clearly Merrill believed it was the only way for her to complete the _eluvian._ Lyra decided right then she could not let Merrill have that tool. Marethari might not be able to refuse to give her the _arulin'holm_, but that didn't mean Lyra couldn't steal it back from her, though she hoped she wouldn't have to.

Marethari had glanced in her direction several times, but she kept her eyes averted. She knew the Keeper must be wondering why she would be helping Merrill after so forcefully stating how she felt about it earlier, but she had no desire to explain herself. She shouldn't have to. She wasn't part of the clan. She could do whatever she liked. The truth was, she had almost decided to abandon the whole thing. Let Hawke and Merrill do whatever task was set for them on their own and head back to Kirkwall. She would have no part of it.

Then the Keeper mentioned a varterral that had killed three of the Dalish hunters when they had ventured into its lair. Generally they let the Dalish come and go as they pleased. Something must have provoked it, and she was suddenly very curious as to what that something was. Merrill agreed to the task of killing the creature and the set off again through the camp towards the mountain itself.

Lyra had seen Fenarel by one of the cooking fires. He seemed to be the only friendly face among them and waved to her as they passed. He was one she couldn't figure out. They had never been friends as children. He spent most of his time following Palin around and as she and Palin had never exactly gotten along, they rarely spoke. Why then did he carve the flute for her? And even though he had undoubtedly heard the argument in camp a few days ago, he didn't show any signs of the animosity she was feeling from the other Dalish in the camp.

That was a puzzle to figure out later though, right now she was busy ignoring the looks they were getting as they headed away from the camp and further up the mountain.

"The cave must be close to camp," Merrill was saying to no one in particular. "Otherwise the Keeper would have just warned the hunters away."

Lyra nodded. She had encountered vartarrel before, though she had been much younger at the time. They were ancient guardians, created by the Dalish in a time before Arlathan. It was said they were created from the elements of rock, tree, wind and rain, and an angry vartarrel was not a creature to be taken lightly. She suddenly missed Fenris' presence even more, though for far more practical reasons. The path up the mountainside was trampled and it looked like others had gone there recently, more than just the three hunters the Keeper had mentioned. The mouth of the cave was not far ahead and she stopped.

"What is it with people just leaving their dead lying around?" she said, pointing out the five or six corpses that littered the cave entrance. "Did the vartarrel do that?"

"I don't think so," Merrill said slowly. "Be careful. Something is very wrong."

As if on cue, the skeletal bodies rose from the ground emitting raspy snarls and gnashing what remained of their teeth. Their ancient weapons were gripped clumsily in what was left of their hands, but that mattered little. The idea was to kill your enemy before he could kill you, and if your enemy was already dead and still attacking, the odds were probably not in your favour.

Bits of cloth and rotting flesh clung to their exposed bones and Lyra had a sudden vision of being seventeen again. She and Tamlen had been exploring an old ruin when corpses just like these had risen around them. Tamlen had said the veil was thin in that place, allowing the spirits in the Fade to enter the waking world, possessing the bodies of the dead. Was that what had happened here too? Was that what had provoked the varterral?

Then there was no time to think about it anymore as the creatures charged. Since that first encounter so many years ago, she had encountered more than her share of walking dead and she knew her daggers would be almost useless against them. Her daggers were meant for stabbing and slicing through flesh, but there was little or no flesh to be had on these ancient dead. No organs to pierce, no throats to slit, but the butt of her daggers could still crush bone and she did her best to disarm the skeletons. Hawke was having an easier time disposing of the creatures using his broad sword in sweeping arcs that hit two or three of the corpses with one swing and finishing them off with the second. Merrill was also casting spells left and right, crushing their attackers under piles of stone and freezing them with blasts of ice from her wand.

When the last corpse finally lay still, Hawke rushed to Merrill's side. "Are you all right?" he asked, lines of concern etched on his rugged features.

"I'm fine," she said in a shaky voice. She had been protected by stone armour she had cast around herself and barely had a scratch on her.

"I'm fine, too," Lyra called out, panting slightly from the exertion. "Thanks for asking."

"Well, I knew you'd be all right," Hawke said grinning. "The Hero of Ferelden doesn't get taken down by a few walking corpses."

"I told you not to call me-"

"Wait a moment," Merrill interrupted. "_She_ wouldn't be hurt? What are you saying about me, then?"

Hawke's smile faltered, now caught between two glaring women. "Lets umm... Lets just get going shall we?"

He disappeared into the cavern and Lyra followed close behind, grinning inwardly at Hawke's discomfort. She glanced over to see that Merrill was grinning at her as well, but then seemed to remember who she was with and averted her eyes, her face turning serious once more.

Sunlight was filtering down from cracks in the roof of the cave and Lyra was surprised to see ferns and other plant life poking through the hardened earth and stone floor. At least they wouldn't need torches. She was somewhat less surprised to see wooden stairs and doorways built into the stone walls. This place must have been a mine at some point. Either that or some sort of hideout. She thought of all the Templars in Kirkwall and could very easily imagine mages trying to escape into the caves. Perhaps that's what had weakened the Veil and disturbed the varterral, blood mages practising their arts. She glanced at Merrill and wondered if she had ever come here.

They hadn't gone more than a few yards into the cave when she heard a distinctive hiss and clicking of giant pincers. She drew her blades once more as the massive spiders descended from above, dropping into their midst, one almost knocking Hawke over with its weight. She didn't hesitate and instant, but attacked the nearest cave spider as it turned toward her. These creatures at least had flesh and she knew exactly where to strike. Spiders like these had also infested the old ruin and as long as you avoided the snapping pincers and paralysing webs they spat at you, they were easy enough to dispatch.

She felled the last of the creatures with a dagger through one of its many eyes and it curled up its legs and rolled onto its back. She turned to find Merrill kneeling beside the body of a young elf she hadn't noticed during the fight. It had been many years since she had seen Rahda, but she recognized him all the same. They had all been trained as hunters together and though he had never been as good with a bow as the other young hunters, she remembered his carefree smile and easy laughter. He wasn't smiling now and the sight of his lifeless body lying twisted and broken on the cave floor stirred something within her she had thought long forgotten. A kinship, and a loss.

"What were these hunters doing in here?" Hawke asked, clearly surprised that elven hunters would have put themselves in such danger. Lyra herself had been wondering the same thing. The vartarrel would have let the hunters pass, but there was no game down here, unless you liked risking poisoning by eating spider meat.

"The Keeper would have sent them here to recover elven artifacts from the varterral before the camp had to move again," Merrill said as she removed Rahda's amulet and put it in a pouch at her waist.

"So your Keeper sent them to their deaths?"

"No," she said quickly, and Lyra found herself shaking her head along with the smaller elf. "Normally they let the Dalish come and go as we please..."

"Something must have provoked it," Lyra finished for her, repeating the thought she had had upon hearing of the varterral attacks. Hawke turned to her, giving her an odd look, but her mind was on the distant past filled with sunlight and a young boys laughter. "Lets go," she muttered. "We're here for the varterral, not a bunch of cave spiders."

She led the way further into the cave, unsure of why the sight of her dead kinsman had affected her so. She had seen friends die before. The darkspawn had claimed more than a few lives before the Archdemon had been killed, not to mention the people of Amaranthine, but this was something else.

She suddenly wished she had never come here. Until now she had been able to separate her old life from the one she lived as a Grey Warden. She preferred to keep the Dalish as a distant memory, far removed from her daily life, but this... this was too close. She reminded herself of how angry she was with the clan for sending her away, of how her old life was dead and buried and how it was better that way, but even she couldn't deny that some part of her still wished she could go back. Perhaps if she had been here instead of out saving some damned shemlens this wouldn't have happened. But there was no point on dwelling on things that were gone and would never return.

A wooden staircase led down into a larger chamber and as they descended, she forced her mind back onto the present. They found Hershal's body a little way on down a side passage and Merrill retrieved his amulet as well. She looked almost in tears as she whispered the elf's name. "Oh Hershal... I'll tell Ineria for you..."

Lyra remembered how close Harshal and Ineria had been and wondered if they had been bonded after she left, but didn't ask. Sometimes it was best to just leave things lie.

They descended another flight of stairs and again heard the now familiar hissing. The cave and wasp spiders were no more than a nuisance for the three, now that they knew what they were facing and they made short work of the enormous insects. The body of the third hunter lay not far along. Chandan had been quite a bit younger than Lyra and she was suddenly sorry she had not spent more time with him. Perhaps she could have taught him how to avoid something like this. She averted her eyes as Merrill spoke over his body, tormented by images of things she would much rather forget.

"We should give their clan amulets to the Keeper. Their families should know they died bravely."

_Bravely?_ Lyra thought. There was nothing brave about this. They had died because they hadn't been prepared. They died because someone had angered the varterral and it attacked them. There was no bravery in this, no honour or glory. They were just dead, for no reason at all other than being in the wrong place at the wrong time. But she kept her thoughts to herself. Merrill seemed to be having a hard time holding it together as it was and for the first time in a long time Lyra felt some small compassion for her one time friend.

Suddenly, Lyra heard running footsteps from deeper within the cave, and she turned toward the sound.

"Is someone there?" Hawke called. "It's safe, you can come out."

"Hello?" The voice emerged from around a bend in the tunnel, and an elf, not much younger than Lyra, poked his head around the corner. "Praise Andrast... I mean the Creators. I thought I'd never get out of..." His voice trailed off when he saw them.

"Pol?" Lyra said in surprise. She had only met him once, right before she had left the clan, but she did remember him. He was a city elf who had left the Denerim alienage to find the Dalish. She had teased him about the Dalish sacrificing young elves to the gods.

"Wait," he said studying her curiously. "I remember you. You're Lyra Mahariel. The Hero of Ferelden. And..." His gaze shifted. "Merrill?" His expression turned from surprise to fear and anger. "Stay back!" he said, backing toward the tunnel he had just emerged from.

"Pol, whats wrong? I'm here to help," Merrill said earnestly but he wasn't listening to her.

"Stay back! Don't touch me." he snarled. "Lyra? You're... you're helping her?" He shook his head in disbelief. "They were right about you. You ARE cursed. You and her both."

"Be calm, Pol," Hawke said, trying to sooth the panic stricken elf. "We'll help you get back to the camp."

"You don't know what she is! What she's done! Those two will kill us all!" he cried, and dashed back down the tunnel.

"Pol, no!" Merrill cried chasing after him. Hakwe and Lyra took off after her. There was no telling what was in the cave beyond, but judging by what they had encountered so far, it would not be good.

The varterral was already advancing on Pol, trapped in a far corner of the room, so massive it almost filled the entire cavern. Its scorpion like legs seemed to be made of stone and pounded into the earth with each step. The five legged creature had a small body with long skinny arms and a spiked tail that could cut straight through a man with a single blow. And worse, it could not die. As long as the varterral had a duty to perform, it would live on, no matter how many times it was defeated... if they could defeat it.

Merrill was already screaming and casting spells at the monster while Hawke and Lyra charged. Lyra managed to get underneath the beast, its soft underbelly being its only weakness. But from this position she not only had to avoid the elongated hands reaching for her, but also the spikes on its massive legs as they stabbed into the ground, trying to crush her.

The fight seemed to go on forever. She could hear the clicking of spiders over the harsh screeching of the varterral every time one of her daggers found its mark, or Hawke's blade struck the creatures body, but she ignored them. The varterral was the real threat. It was Merrill's magic that seemed to be doing the most damage. Rocks rained down from the roof of the cavern and Lyra couldn't tell if they were caused by Merrill's magic or the varterral itself. After what seemed like hours but was probably only minutes, she saw the creature waver and start to fall. She dived out of the way before the stone beast could fall on top of her and lay on the ground breathing hard and waiting for her heart to return to her chest.

"Pol?" She heard Merrill's voice echoing around the cave, and saw Pol's lifeless body lying not far away. "Maybe it's not too late," Merrill was saying as she fell to the ground beside him. Digging in her pack for some potion that might revive him. Hawke put a hand on her shoulder and she burst into tears, hiding her face in her hands. "Why did you run?" she wailed. "You shouldn't have run!"

"There was nothing you could have done," Hawke said, picking her up off the ground.

"He was more afraid of me that the varterral..."

"Us, you mean," Lyra said approaching them cautiously. It made no sense. What exactly had Pol been told about them that had literally scared him to death?

Merrill nodded and Lyra knew she was thinking the same thing. Then her eyes turned hard. "Something is very wrong here. I have to see the Keeper."

Lyra was in complete agreement. Even if Merrill had resorted to blood magic, the Dalish were not as fearful of magic as the humans in the city. Not all spirits were demons after all. Justice was proof enough of that. But perhaps it wasn't the demon that they feared.

"The varterral is dead," Hawke said to the Keeper once they were back in camp. Lyra had been watching Merrill and could see the conflicting emotions washing over the smaller elf. She had always felt things more deeply than Lyra. Or perhaps she simply could not hide it as well. Now she had a look of steely resolve, marred only by a lingering sadness for the fallen hunters.

The Keeper seemed genuinely pleased to see them, and Lyra wondered if she had not expected them to die in the varterral's lair. "_Ma serannas,_" she said. "I'll breath easier knowing we will lose no more people to it."

Merrill handed the amulets over to Marethari, another wave of sorrow flooding her soft features. "We found these."

Marethari nodded solemnly. "I'll return them to their families."

"We lost Pol. In the cave he..." Merrill's voice caught in her throat. "He fled at the sight of me, straight into the varterral."

"Many of the clan believe you will bring back the corruption, or worse, from the mirror."

Lyra could stay silent no longer. "From the mirror, or from me?" she demanded. "Pol said I was cursed."

"Are you not?" Keeper Marethari said, turning an icy gaze on her. And there it was. The clan feared her almost as much as they feared the _eluvian_.

"You told them to fear me, didn't you?" she snarled. "And Merrill. You told them we would bring back the taint."

"I am their Keeper, _da'len_. It was my duty to warn them." Marethari turned back to Merrill, leaving Lyra seething with rage. "It's still not to late for you to return to us. Both of you. Reconsider... There's no need for you to live alone."

"How can you say that?" Lyra exploded. Marethari had told the clan that she and Merrill would bring death down on them all and then expected them to just accept their return? It was strange to feel such kinship with Merrill after everything had happened, but Marethari had painted them both with the same black mark and she could not wash it away now.

"Lyra's right," Merrill was saying. "You'll never accept what I'm doing."

"I don't either, for the record," Lyra snapped at her. If Merrill thought she was going to support her she was dead wrong, and right now Lyra was ready to fight everyone.

"The _eluvian_ is a trap," Marethari said firmly glancing at Lyra. She always did that, ignoring the outburst and pressing on, never giving in. Lyra wondered if she had ever felt the rage that burned within her own mind. "It cost us Tamlen," Marethari went on, "Turned you to blood magic. Will you let it twist you further from who you really are?"

"And who am I?" Merrill demanded. Her fierce tone caught Lyra by surprise. Who indeed? Lyra had never seen Merril so defiant, so sure of herself, and she had certainly never stood up to the Keeper before. Was this the demons doing? Or had Merrill finally grown up? "We've done as you asked," she was saying. "Honour our bargain. Give me the _arlulin'holm_."

But Marethari turned away from her and held out the small carving tool to Hawke, who had wisely been keeping silent. "Hawke, because Merrill won't listen, I give this heirloom of my clan to you for safekeeping. Please... Don't let her do this." And without another word the Keeper turned and walked away from them.

Lyra couldn't hide the conflicting emotions within her. She agreed with the Keeper of course, but at the same time, Marethari could have stopped all this before it had ever gotten this far. Besides, she had turned the whole clan against her. Lyra tried to remind herself that she didn't care. After all, it was the Keeper who had cast her out in the first place. Of course, she would have told the people what she had done was for the best. But still... the fear in Pol's eyes... In that moment she knew exactly how Merrill was feeling.

"Thank the Creators," Merrill was saying as they made their way out of the camp. "I thought maybe she'd go back on her word."

"Don't give it to her," Lyra said, suddenly coming back to the present.

"What?" Merrill stopped in her tracks.

"Don't do it, Hawke," she said again. He still had the _arulin'holm_. Not Merrill. As long as he didn't give it to her... "As much as I don't like the Keeper and what she has done, in this we do agree. Nothing good will come of it."

"Don't say that!" Merrill cried, the shock evident on her face, as if she expected Lyra to support her. "With this I can fix the _eluvian_. It will be whole again. I told you, I purified it. It's not dangerous. What about our history?"

Lyra was shaking her head, unable to believe that Merrill still could not see the truth. "Don't do it."

Hawke was looking looking like he didn't know which way was up. "I'm sorry, Lyra, but if this helps your people at all..."

"They're not my people," she snapped, a little more ferociously than she had intended and glanced around at the hardened faces of the elves who weren't even pretending not to listen in. Some small part of her had always hoped she could come back some day. The ghost of her former life, reminding her of who she used to be. But that was gone now. She was still a Dalish elf, but this was no longer her clan. "And repairing the _eluvian_ won't help her people either." She stabbed a finger at Merrill who was close to tears again, her resolve now broken.

"It could have helped Tamlen," she cried, and Lyra froze. The tension between them was palpable, taught as a bowstring about to be let loose. Tamlen... It always came back to him, didn't it? Tamlen, the Taint and the mirror... It was like the three had become one. You couldn't think of one without the others. They were inextricably linked, but Merrill couldn't see it. "Even the Keeper thought she could use it to find a cure. But Duncan destroyed it without even trying. And you!" She stabbed an accusing finger at Lyra, tears of anger streaming down her face. "You ran off to fight darkspawn or some other enemy that has nothing to do with our people, leaving Tamlen alone, sick and dying somewhere. You promised you'd find him!"

"I didn't have to," she said quietly. "He found me. So sick and twisted with corruption he could hardly remember his own name. And when he begged me to end it... I killed him, Merrill. And I would do it again."

The shock of her words seemed to stop Merrill in her tracks and her eyes widened in horror. "You? You killed him? Why?" she cried. "I could have helped him. If I could have saved him then maybe he..." her voice trailed off into sobs and Lyra thought perhaps she knew how that sentence would have ended. "But you! You didn't even try to help him. All you know how to do is kill. The _eluvian_ could have fixed everything. But you never even tried! This is all your fault, murderer!"

Lyra watched the younger elf a long moment before saying anything. The words had been like a slap in the face, but it was one she had been expecting. The small sadistic voice in the back of her mind had been telling her the same thing for years. "You're right," she said, her jaw quivering, torn by anger that Merrill would try to use Tamlen against her, and the guilt of knowing that at least in some small way, she was right. "It is my fault. I'm the one who killed Tamlen. And I'm the one who has to live with it every day. But listen when I tell you there is no cure."

"But I thought the Grey Warden's-"

"Becoming a Grey Warden doesn't cure the taint. It only delays it," she said. "Pol was right, I am cursed. And I have to live with that, too. Tell me, Merrill, if something did go wrong. Would you be able to live with it? Is it worth the risk?" She turned away from them, swallowing hard, before the war of emotions within her could bubble to the surface.

She didn't wait to see if Hawke would give the _arulin'holm_ to Merrill, didn't have to. She knew he would. He loved her, how could he refuse her anything? And for an instant she remembered what that was like.


End file.
